Seeking a Severely Average Man
by Jessica-Doom
Summary: Harry Potter has no clear direction or plan for his life. He's a hopeless and lonely romantic and he can't hold a job to save his life. The day he spots a particularly special personal ad in the newspaper will be the one to change all that. It's just supposed to be a fake relationship, but we all know those never turn out the way they should.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **I blame my desire to return to the late 90's/early 2000's for this fic. As well as the titles of cheesy romance novels... So, here's this Muggle AU that I have been DYING to write ever since the thought popped into my head. Hope you love. Would _love_ to know what your thoughts are in a review!**

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"Harry James Potter, don't you _dare_ take another step forward!"

With a mischievous smile, Harry maneuvered his fighter to jump forward. In the same motion, he jammed a complicated move into the controller. Only a moment later, _'TKO_ ' flashed on the screen and he relaxed back into the couch with a self-satisfied grin. "You've lost your touch, Hermione."

"Not everyone has the luxury of sitting at home playing video games all day," his friend spat, tossing her controller to the side.

All important arguments were settled with Mortal Kombat. It was the first rule of the apartment. Silly, of course, but somehow still important for keeping the dynamic of their relationship. "And here you thought I was just wasting my days on unemployment," Harry teased while reaching over to pinch Hermione's side. In the bare minimum of a response, Hermione squirmed just a bit. Her eyes were glued to the floor and, knowing her so well, the premonition of a coming argument was hiding just behind her too-big front teeth. "I won fair and square…."

"But it's still a great opportunity, Harry," Hermione whispered, like she was afraid of the words coming out of her mouth.

"For you," he muttered and almost violently pushed up off the couch. Harry occupied himself with turning off the gaming console, ensuring he was facing pointedly away. The frown set into his brow would definitely give her the wrong impression. It would convey weakness in his sure decision. "But I'm not interested in administrative government work…. Even if it meant working side-by-side with my best mate."

He could practically hear the question coming a mile away. Hermione had asked it of him at least a hundred times since their venture into adulthood had taken off. "What _are_ you interested in, then?" In her usually valued, but not exactly welcome, opinion, he had no drive or ambition for his life. He'd never exactly been able to answer the school-time question of ' _What do you want to be when you grow up?_ '

Hermione, on the other hand, had a solid and immovable plan for her life and her future before they were even out of nappies. She never once wavered from it – top of their class all throughout school, internships with the right people at the right places, full immersion into adulthood just after graduation (skipping university - don't get her started on that waste of time). The culmination was something big, but she was going to allow time to work out the specifics on that one.

And, of course, Harry was factored into every single one of her plans. He didn't have any of his own, hence the current stretch of unacceptable unemployment after a string of short-lived lame career ventures. Most recently, he had attempted the life of a barista…and quickly found he certainly wasn't cut out for the drama of it.

A well-timed knock at the door saved Harry the embarrassment of digging for an answer. Not that he was sure Hermione was expecting one. She knew better. "At least consider it a bit longer," she mumbled and practically stormed off to answer it.

"I won the game, so you know I won't," he said and flopped back onto the couch.

"Won't what?"

"It's nothing. Harry's just being a bit stubborn…."

"Oh. But that's normal, yeah?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry waved half-heartedly towards the door. "Always a pleasure having you around, Ronald."

At first, Hermione's life plans didn't include a boyfriend. Or a husband. No romantic attachments of any kind. She had actually written it out in bubble letters across a dream board in year seven. And…then she grew up and the hormones kicked in. Even so, only with Harry did she ever allow herself to be anything akin to 'boy crazy'. Especially after he came out and most especially after their first screening of _Titanic_.

The life plan was officially amended the day Ronald Weasley literally crashed into their life. Ron lived up just one floor above them – literally right above. And he was loud. His footsteps were heavy, his television was always five notches too high, and when they first met him he had a girlfriend who could scream down a house. Three points Hermione wasted no time in yelling in his face after she banged down his door a mere week after they'd moved in. By that point, the girlfriend had finally screamed herself into being an ex and a just a few, short months later, she and _Ronald_ had their first date.

In Harry's opinion, the two were an odd couple. Every time he saw them together, he couldn't help but to wonder what their future children might turn out to be. It was what put him off their relationship the most, if he was honest. Hermione was all teeth and big hair. Ron was lanky and tall with a shaggy mop of violent red atop his head. He certainly was no Leonardo DiCaprio. Perhaps he was biased…but he just couldn't understand what his friend saw in the guy.

It was all likely just jealousy. Ron was an okay bloke. He had a sense of humor and excellent taste in takeaway. And he did definitely have the ambition Harry lacked – he coached a decently successful child's football team. Harry had come to realize his resentment in the man lay solely in his own loneliness. Hermione, who hadn't really wanted love, had stumbled upon hers by pure accident. Harry had been fumbling for his since she was old enough to realize he might not fancy girls like he 'should'.

Back home, his selections had been limited. The only other boys 'like him' in his year had paired off early. So when they moved to London, Harry felt he was ill-prepared. He'd never even had a boyfriend, let alone done all the things men his age wanted from him. He didn't know how to date…so he made quite a few vividly permanent mistakes.

But he was past that. He was twenty-years-old and lonely and… sort of content with it.

Except when he saw how sweetly Ron held Hermione and felt a fire rising in his belly. Trying to only peek at them from the barest corner of his eye, Harry pushed up off the couch and headed for the kitchen, as well. Hermione was busy laying out the boxes of Indian food Ron had brought with him. His hands were on her hips, fingers just barely caressing the skin beneath her shirt hem. The movement was mesmerizing and the relaxed smile afixed to her lips was entrancing. She truly looked happy. And if Harry had to admit it, the two of them did remind him a bit of his own parents.

Two totally different people somehow finding one another and falling madly in love. In other words, a fucking fairytale come true.

"You know, Harry," Ron approached, his tone cautious, "that bloke a couple doors down from me asked about you again…."

He must have noticed Harry staring. Honestly, Ron was a bit more aware of his surroundings than Harry had initially given him credit for. From the outside, he appeared to be all muscle and little brain. A typical clueless guy. But he saw more than people probably realized and he had more heart than he might wish to let on, as he most often masked his genuine feelings with a joke or a jab. "Thanks," Harry muttered in reply, feeling the back of his neck heat up in an obvious show of embarrassment. "But I'm not really interested right now."

"He's an alright guy," Ron pressed.

"For a middle-aged man who still lives with his mum."

Frowning, Ron scooped up his dinner while pointedly avoiding Harry's gaze. "You could at least give it a go, you know? You're not exactly going places, yourself."

A less-than-kind remark about Ron's level of interest in the guy very nearly flew past Harry's lips. Right before he opened his mouth, though, Hermione placed a hand on both their arms and said gently, "This man's not worth fighting over, boys. Harry's already said he's not interested. Let's leave it at that."

As he had a thousand times before, Harry once again thought about how lost he would be if he'd never met Hermione Granger. She was the most stable and reasonable thing in his life.

"Besides, Harry's waiting on the personals column to find the love of his life for him."

And he could always trust her to be unguardedly real with him.

In a too-fast motion that almost culminated in his food all over the floor, Harry snatched up his plate and practically stormed to the dining table. He felt…betrayed. Hermione had always kept his secrets. Now here she was, including this new fixture in _her_ life in on the most personal parts of _his_. He desperately wanted to shout something in response. He wanted to get angry. But he couldn't with her. Never with her. So he bottled his outrage and made a show of turning his back towards the pair.

Harry could practically hear the grin in Ron's voice when he pressed for further information. "I didn't think anyone read the lonely hearts any longer. Who're you looking to connect with?"

"No one," Harry ground out between his teeth. "I just like to read them…."

Harry Potter was, deep down at his very core, a sappy romantic who most definitely believed in love at first sight. He'd learned at a young age only to trust certain people with that information. It wasn't a conventionally 'manly' trait. Not that his parents had ever bothered with trying to raise him conventional in any sense. Even still, his gravitation to fairy tales and love stories didn't exactly make him a popular boy in school – from the years of cootie fears all the way through to when he came out and quickly learned that gay men weren't exactly known for long stints of monogamy.

As an adult, Harry definitely still enjoyed the Disney movies of his childhood and definitely rented the crap out of _Pretty Woman_ and _Sleepless in Seattle_. He had definitely dragged Hermione to see _Notting Hill_ in the theater. (There was _definitely_ something special about Hugh Grant….) He was an absolute _sucker_ for romance, especially considering his own stale love life. And the day he had discovered the personals section of the newspaper, he was instantly addicted. They were like the beginnings of paperback romance novels come to real and brilliant life. It was refreshing to ruminate over them and imagine where these people's lives ended up.

"Aren't they just full of bloody old spinsters looking for an easy shag?"

It was a fascination obviously not shared by many people. Especially not by many men, he was sure, if Ron's comment was any indication. "Not always," Harry muttered, unfolding that day's newspaper. He felt incredibly vulnerable putting this interest out so vividly on display for someone he hardly knew, but also felt the pull to justify it. "Like, here…this one – _'Short, Tanned, & Handsome - 41, not picture perfect but definitely a looker, seeking beautiful soulmate with sense of humor, must love dogs and be open to_-'…. Okay, never mind that one…. That's not a good example."

Hermione, smiling softly, sat beside him and slid the paper into her view "- _and be open to dieting if over ten stone_ '," she completed before snorting a laugh. "See, Harry thinks they're romantic. And, sometimes, I will agree there can be a couple. But mostly…I think you've really got to be at your end to submit an ad."

Feeling judged and quite put out, Harry snatched back the paper and tossed it out of Ron and Hermione's reach. Of course they wouldn't understand. Hermione looked at love as logical and reasonable, even despite her current situation. And Ron…well, Ron he didn't know well enough to make assumptions. But he was sure he may just be a bit too thick to understand such things.

Ron cleared his throat, apparently not knowing when to leave well enough alone. "So…do blokes _like you_ write in a lot?"

Even after nearly a year, Ron still had yet to master the art of referring to Harry's sexuality without sounding completely nervous. He acted like if he were to say the word 'gay', the world might just burst into flames around him. Harry had actually yet to hear him use that particular word, thus far. Which meant Harry just had to try and use it as often as he possibly could. "Gay men? Do you mean to ask if the gays write lonely hearts ads? Yeah, mate. Yeah, we do. We're normal and human just like you straight guys. We get lonely just like you. Shocker, yeah?"

"That's not what I meant," Ron mumbled, almost tucking himself down into his dinner as he shoveled it into his mouth. The tips of his ears were bright red; Harry had surely embarrassed him. It was just too easy and too satisfying. "Just forget it…."

"You know what?" Harry snapped back, the victory feeling bittersweet with Hermione's sour look accompanying it. "I think I'll have the rest of dinner in my room. I'm clearly in the wrong state to be socializing." He snatched up his plate and the paper in a rush, balancing them precariously as he leant down to press his lips to the top of Hermione's mess of carefully crimped locks. "Let me know if you want to watch a program before bed, alright?"

It was selfish, his attitude. His best friend – so happy and content with her life – didn't deserve his jealousy. But the more the days and months ticked by…the more his anger and frustration manifested.

Although he tried to pretend that his directionless life didn't faze him, Harry was actually starting to get a bit frustrated with himself. It was half of why he kept quitting jobs. Nothing felt… _right_. Just as leaving the apartment and actually going to a gay club didn't really feel right. That's where men met each other. It wasn't something he was delusional about. He knew his loneliness was entirely his own fault. He wasn't trying. And he probably wasn't trying hard enough at these jobs, either. He hadn't exactly stayed on long enough at any of them to really know if he liked them or not.

Harry was lost.

He wasn't exactly sure when it had happened, but somewhere along the way he started to need a map to life. Unfortunately he realized this much too late to have tried to find one. It felt like he was behind. Especially with Hermione being so ahead of things all the damn time.

With all those self-deprecating thoughts coursing through his mind, Harry flopped back on his bed. His dinner was abandoned on the nightstand and the newspaper was open and hanging above his face. He was drowning himself in the idea of love, once again. Drowning out his own loneliness with fantasies of someone else's. Again. It felt comforting to curl up under a blanket that smelt like home and pretend like other people had things worse than he currently did. It felt nice to be pretend for just a moment that he might be in his own romantic comedy – he was just still at the beginning of the movie. He was that hopeless girl in the beginning who had nothing in her life figured out. But the instant the man of her dreams walked in…. Everything would change.

Everything would change for Harry. Soon. He had to believe it would.

Fairytales and love stories go hand-in-hand with divine coincidence. Fate always plays a very particular part in things like love at first sight and star-crossed lovers. And, looking back from the far future, Harry had to believe it was fate who intervened in his life right then.

There was a particularly different sort of personal ad in that day's paper. Most who submitted an ad were looking for love, in some respect. They were looking for companionship on an intimate level – friendship or romance or perhaps just an ear for the afternoon. They were looking to be seen and to be heard. No ad that Harry had ever seen was quite like this one. That definitely intrigued him. And once he allowed himself to think it may be interesting to reply, the thought would not leave his head.

 _Not Looking For Love – Seeking a severely average man, call for appointment, willing to pay good money for a short-term fake relationship, must have open schedule, gay men only_

The telephone was in Harry's hand before he'd really even thought about it. He'd already typed in the digits listed at the end of the ad. All he needed now was to press 'call'. All he needed was to think past the rapid beating of his heart long enough to have a conversation with the person on the other end.

All he needed was this. He needed a distraction. He needed…a taste of purpose, even if it was fake. And he needed the money. More than anything, he needed the money. And, so far, this was the only thing he'd found that could tick all those boxes.

It was a path paved exclusively for Harry Bloody Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

Out past Harry's door, he heard Hermione's laugh. She didn't know what he was about to do, but he still couldn't help but to think maybe she was already judging him for it. Preemptively.

And rightfully so. Calling the number on the ad would be so stupid. One of the stupidest things he'd ever done. Which was saying a lot. Harry was rather known for doing dumb things. This was just going to add to that long list Hermione liked to name off.

Sighing, Harry hit 'end' instead. The number cleared and a dial tone filled his ears once again. It really would be reckless to answer the ad. This was probably how people ended up being victims of serial killers. They just walked themselves right into it – desperate. "Am I that desperate?" he whispered, matching his point with a pathetic laugh.

In the end, he decided he just might be. With another glance at the newspaper, Harry punched the digits in again. Before he could talk himself out of it, he went through with connecting the call. It rang exactly twice and his heart beat at least a thousand times in that short span. He could feel it in his throat, constricting his vocal chords. If this person picked up, would he even be able to speak?

"Yes?"

The voice on the other end was an equal balance of commanding and drawling. Instantly, Harry found himself wanting to slam the phone back down on the cradle. He was starting to find it easy to believe that this man might need to pay someone for a relationship – fake or not. And they hadn't even talked yet. '"Er…hi," Harry stammered out. "I saw your lonely hearts ad? At least I think I've got the right number…."

"You like men?" the voice demanded.

Answering suddenly felt like a trap. This whole thing – the ad and the not-so-normal addition of a telephone number – felt like he might be falling for a prank. A bit of a harmless one, but a blow to his self-esteem nonetheless. "Yeah," Harry whispered back, finger hovering over the hook switch. Just in case.

The voice ignored his hesitancy. "Name?"

"Harry…"

"I've already got a Harry on the list... Surname?"

"Potter?"

On the other end, the man sighed heavily through his nose. There was a slight whistle to it that somehow only accentuated the exasperation. "Is that what it really is? Because that sounded more like a question than an answer."

"No, that's really it," Harry hurried back in defense. "Sorry, I'm just not sure-"

"Potter, I have you down for half-ten. The Bender. Don't be late."

As soon as the location registered, Harry fumbled out, "Oh, but I don't go to the gay clubs," but he was only speaking to dead air.

It was official. Harry had done yet another stupid thing. Now it was just a matter of going through with the rest of it. He had no idea who he'd spoken to on the phone. No name. No information on age. Nothing to still his worries on this being a dodgy situation. Not a thing. Just a time and an address. A queer bar in the middle of the morning. And nearly a hundred questions he desperately wanted answers to.

In all honesty, the thought of not going at all didn't even cross Harry's mind. Of course he was going. There was a reason he'd seen that ad. There was some sort of destiny awaiting him at the end of this. Good or bad. Just like relocating to London. He'd left home and family all behind because he knew he was meant to. And now, to further the grand adventure, he was meant to meet a total stranger to have a chat about pretend relationships. It all felt so weirdly normal.

The dial tone still ringing in his ear, Harry cradled the phone and set it back on his nightstand. In its stead, he grabbed the framed picture of his parents that could easily be regarded as his most prized possession. Moving to London meant missing them more than anything. He visited still; at least they were only a few hours away. But train fare was hard to afford without an income. And he supposed he could call them more…. But talking to them over the phone only made his heart ache worse.

"I should tell you what I'm going to do," he muttered to the happy couple in the photo. "You'd probably tell me not to go." They merely continued to smile, laughing at some secret joke. Between them, arms looped around their necks, was a man with an even bigger grin. The photo was taken on his parents' wedding day. Before he was even a thought in their minds. Back when they were young and carefree. Back before the man in the middle – their best man and Harry's godfather – started the chain of events that dismantled their good luck and easy lives. "Then again…I'm sure you'd tell me to go for it. You guys never were afraid of anything."

With a sigh, Harry set the picture back down and stood to turn off his light before curling up under the blankets. Though he knew he wouldn't able to sleep with all the nervous energy coursing through his veins, he knew he should at least try. This meeting tomorrow almost sounded like a job interview. It was important to be rested for such things. It was really the only way he was going to be able to prepare himself, anyway.

XxX

Harry had been to this club once before. Just once. Hermione was trying to show she was supportive when she took him here on their first night in the city. Although, he'd never doubted that she was…. The night hadn't ended well. It was more of an awakening than Harry had really been ready for. Too many slick bodies grinding and grappling. The smell of sex pungent in the air. And, of course, the literal sex itself. Dark corners filled with men on their knees and writhing couples with their hands down one another's trousers.

It was too much.

The sensory overload brought him to a drinking overload. Which brought him to make a really terrible decision. Which ended up with him lying alone in a stranger's bed draped in nothing more than a stained sheet.

Walking back up to the place felt prickly and wrong. Alcohol-soaked flashes of pain danced in Harry's mind as he pushed open the door. But things inside were not as he remembered. That night, the music had been _so loud_. Loud enough that he couldn't hold a conversation. Loud enough he could feel the bass in his chest. The atmosphere had been nothing but black lights and strobes. But now….

No bouncer greeted him at the door. Instead of tired party songs, Enya was softly floating from the speakers. It was quiet and relaxed inside and the whole place was flooded with natural morning light. Tables were arranged across what had been the massive dancefloor, about a qarter filled with what seemed like normal people. Where the bar had stood, centered in the middle of the room, was now nothing more than a quaint coffee stand. Had that espresso machine been there that night?

Harry blinked, realizing he must look crazy standing in the doorway just staring. He navigated past the occupied tables, avoiding any sort of eye contact, and made his way to the counter. A burly man who looked like the literal definition of a bear greeted him with a warm smile and pushed a tray of biscuit bites his direction. "Good morning and welcome to The Bender. Want to try our maple pecan biscuit?"

Trying to clear the obvious frown from his brow, Harry shook his head and looked around at the open space again. "No, thanks. Er…. Sorry, this is going to sound weird, but…last time I was here it was more of a…club? Did you change?"

The man smiled patiently like he heard this all the time. "Café by day, club by night. We don't start serving alcohol until eight if that's what you came for."

"No, no," Harry stammered, coursing his fingers through his hair. "This is good, actually…." He smiled nervously back at the man. "Can I just get…." Trailing off, he pulled bits of change from his pocket before jamming it back in. "Just a water, if I could?" The man, whose nametag simply said 'Q', nodded and procured a small plastic cup of water. "Thanks. Now, uh…. I'm supposed to be meeting someone? I don't know what he looks like or his name. I was just told on the phone to meet him here. Do you-"

"Oi, Draco!" Q yelled, turned to the backside of the café. Harry peered around the stand to the corner. A man with the blondest hair Harry had ever seen looked up, tucking a pen behind his ear. "Ready for another one?" The blond nodded and made a beckoning motion, hardly even glancing at Harry. "Go on over," Q said gently, chuckling under his breath. "And good luck."

"Thanks…." This stupid thing Harry was about to do was suddenly _real_. His feet were carrying him to a man he didn't know in a gay café that was probably better known as a randy gay club. It was like the beginning of an afterschool special. Quite far off from romantic.

"Sit," was the first word this man – Draco – spoke to him in person. Like he was a dog. The voice definitely matched and so did the bossy tone. The overall appearance of him matched, as well. He looked like a right pompous git. His white-blond hair was slicked back into a low, fairly short ponytail. Not a single strand was out of place. He wore what seemed like an expensive suit, definitely tailored and probably handmade just for him. There were little silver pinstripes stitched into its black material that played nicely with his steel gray eyes. He was thin and sharp; his cheekbones looked as if they could cut a diamond. Every single bit of his looked poised and well-bred. Even though this café was decent and clean, he still looked massively out of place.

Obeying the command, Harry took the seat across from Draco. He extended his hand with a shaky smile, once again feeling as if he'd just walked into a job interview. "Harry Potter," he stated, doing his best to smile through every other invading thought.

"Draco Malfoy."

Harry's hand hovered untouched in the air. Draco hardly even looked at it or at him. His eyes were firmly trained down toward a legal pad tucked into a leather folder. He flipped a few pages over, licking the tip of his finger just barely before each turn. After an agonizingly long stretch of time (which was likely maybe just a few seconds), Harry dropped his hand back down to his lap and studied the man across from him a bit more. He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew him somehow. Just barely…. He remembered the hair and that particularly judgy frown….

"Oh, shit, I know you," Harry laughed, resting his elbow on the table as he slapped his palm against his forehead.

Raising his brow, Draco glanced up from his papers. "I find that hard to believe," he sneered, making a show of looking Harry over head to toe.

Harry was still laughing, but that gaze on him brought about a shaky tone to it. As if the memory wasn't embarrassing enough…. "Er, yeah…. No, yeah, I do know you. I worked at the coffee shop on Conduit. I had to remake your drink like seven times…."

Sudden recognition lit up the flecks of silver in Draco's eyes. "What kind of barista doesn't know how to make a dry cappuccino?" he uttered, soaked in the same vehemence as that particular day.

It wasn't even exaggeration to say that Harry had made this man's drink seven times. He'd counted them all. And, in the end, this asshole was still upset and stalked out without his coffee. "I quit that day," Harry said. "Not because of you. Well…sort of. But mostly because I wasn't cut out for it. And also because you made me cry in front of a room full of people." He winced, wishing he'd held that bit back. "Anyhow…."

There was the barest hint of a smile – or maybe a smirk? – at the corner of Draco's lip. To his left was a porcelain cup, seemingly untouched. He pushed it just barely towards Harry, tapping at the rim with a shiny, manicured nail. "Dry cappuccinos should have no milk – only foam. A dry foam. Large, airy bubbles as opposed to the velvety ones you might find in a latte. They should be light as the only weight in the cup should come from the espresso. What you made me seven times that day was an extremely frothy latte. Honestly, do you even drink coffee?"

"Does instant coffee count?"

Draco raised a brow, most likely in shock as his lips parted for just an unguarded second. He didn't respond, but simply scribbled a note on his legal pad with a platinum green fountain pen. "You say you quit? Where are you working now?"

Eyes going round, Harry averted them back to the table. Studying the masterpiece in a cup that he had been unable to produce. "I'm not. I'm part of the unemployed at the moment."

Making a musing noise, Draco delicately picked the cup up with only three fingers and took a long, slow drink. "And your parents? What do they do?"

"How is that rele-"

"Just answer the question, Potter."

This man sat right before Harry had a complex of some kind. He was sure of it. Narrowing his eyes, he just barely uttered, "Also currently unemployed…."

The light that lit up in Draco's eyes was enough to seal Harry's already iron-clad vision of him. "You dress like you've never shopped from anything but an Argos catalogue. Your hair is an absolute mess. As far as first impressions go…you definitely know how to leave one. I'm honestly just surprised you even date men. How many men have you dated exactly?" He _was_ a pompous git.

"Define 'dated'…," Harry seethed through his teeth.

"Alright, how many have you had sex with, then?"

His cheeks instantly red, Harry flew up out of his chair like he'd been burnt. The fleeting thought of this possibly being some sort of prostitution set up crossed his mind once more. "The ad said it was a _fake_ relationship."

Draco rolled his eyes. "And it is. I have about twelve other men who have responded so far. I have to weed through them to find the perfect fit."

"And how does knowing who I've slept with help you with that at all?"

Patient as a waiting leopard, Draco slowly leaned in and whispered, "The way you react to the question helps me to determine if I'm going to end up getting attacked after leaving here today. You're not doing much to put me at ease, you know…."

"Two," Harry said quickly and practically slammed himself back into his seat. "Only two. Are you going to tell me how many you've slept with? To quiet _my_ fears?"

Not that Draco needed to prove to Harry that he was anything but queer. He was well-polished and delicate, yet intensely fierce to make up for that weakness. The threat rolling off of him was entirely different from someone who might want to actually cause him physical harm. And he knew this. Draco knew this and his smirk said exactly that. "No, and if you're not satisfied with that, you can very well walk away right now." Harry remained seated, head bowed in contrition. "That's what I thought. Now…one last question. Why were you looking at the personals column? You're very different from all the other applicants. Much younger, for one."

Had Harry known he was going to open the most intimate parts of himself up to a stranger today…well, he likely wouldn't have gotten out of bed. His cheeks darkened even more, the blush coursing its way up across the whole of his face. "I just like to read them," he mumbled, taking a sudden and deep drink of his water. His throat was about as dry as this man's precious foam.

"Well…," Draco pondered in response, "I suppose you have been the most promising candidate thus far." Harry began to beam with pride. "You don't seem in much a hurry to turn your life into something worthwhile. I've seen you're absolutely hopeless in a technical setting." The smile began to slip from his lips, a hardness glazing his eyes. "You have no class or style. And you seem to come from nothing. My parents really will hate you….

"Welcome to the charade, Potter."

"You really can call me Harry. If you want me to even pretend to be-"

"No," Draco interrupted once again, "I rather prefer _Potter_."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I manage a bookstore and we're getting into high retail season. Lots of exhaustive, long days coming. So just consider this an advanced warning for potentially longer wait time between new chapters. With that said, please enjoy. Can't wait to hear what everyone's thinking!**

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The bank almost wouldn't cash the cheque. The clerk went through every single channel she could to validate it. To make sure it wasn't a fraud. And Harry really couldn't blame them. He'd never seen so much money in his account all at once. He'd never held so much in his hands. Just the weight of what he'd withdrawn felt like stones in his pocket. It felt like a secret he didn't know he could keep.

He hadn't told Hermione yet. He simply stopped by the apartment for a brief moment to drop off every bit of his missed share of the rent from their time in London. She was at work all day and wouldn't see it until that night, which worked just fine. Harry wasn't looking forward to having to explain all of this mess to her. Especially when he still wasn't sure of the finer details himself.

Just like before, all he had to go off of was a time and an address. It was also vague. It was weird. But, honestly, the weirder things became, the more Harry was finding himself intrigued. This Malfoy bloke was mysterious. He was obviously rich and could probably snag any guy he tried for. He was halfway decent looking, too. Once you got past his personality. And yet he was advertising in the goddamn newspaper for a relationship that wouldn't even be real. Sure, he was an ass, but Harry was sticking around on this one. Not only because he'd been paid half of the ten thousand pounds up front, but also because he really wanted to know what this guy's deal was.

Not like he really had anything better to do.

The new appointment with Draco (or should he call him Malfoy since he insisted upon _Harry's_ surname?) wasn't until the next afternoon. Harry knew if he sat at home, he would go mad. Also he might actually have to tell Hermione of his latest bout of idiocy. And, besides, it really was high time he visited his parents again.

For the first time in a very long time, though, he felt nervous walking through the front door. The little bell above the frame tinkled loudly, giving him absolutely no time to quell his nervous composure.

It didn't take long for James to come running. That's what the bell was for, after all. His hair, graying at the sides, was in predictable disarray. His eyes were bugged and full of fleeting fear. Every bit of him looked wild and caught off guard. But Harry only had but a second to take this all in before he was being enveloped in a bone-crushing hug. "Harry," his father sighed in relief.

"Everything okay?" Harry asked, returning the embrace with matched ferocity.

"Yeah, yeah," James said quickly. He pulled back with a smile, coursing his fingers through Harry's similar mess of hair. "Your mum's just having a kip and I…. Well, I must have dozed off in the armchair, myself. You just startled me a bit is all."

"Sorry, I should've just rung the bell…."

"Nonsense." Waving his hand through the air, James nodded towards the kitchen before heading in that direction himself. "Far as I'm concerned, this is still your home. I won't have you ringing the bell at your own house. Otherwise, why would we have let you keep your key?"

Harry followed along, the impending stress of the morning melting off with each second spent in the place he also still considered home. London was great and he loved his life and apartment with Hermione, but nothing compared to a place where everything felt familiar. Nothing compared to the smell of his mother's perfume permeating everything or the remnants of his father's hearty laugh filling every room.

"So, I thought you said you couldn't afford the ticket home."

Over the years of Harry's childhood, James had definitely perfected the balance between nosy father and trustable confidant. Today was no exception and Harry found himself melting towards wanting to spill everything. He just barely held back, focusing the words remaining on the back of his tongue while taking peace from watching his dad fill the kettle up with water. "I figured out how to afford it," he said slowly, already sure that wasn't going to be enough of an explanation. He caught James' slightly suspicious eyebrow raise and forced a cheeky smile. "I was homesick. Nothing major."

"The coffee shop give you a raise already?" James set the pot on the stove before sitting down at the table. Far too close for Harry's current comfort even if he was a bit satisfied in the shared warmth.

"No…no, I quit the coffee shop," Harry mumbled. "I never was good in chemistry. Being a barista was too much like mixing chemicals. If you do one thing wrong...the whole drink is ruined. So, yeah…it just wasn't working out…."

James was patient, but there was definitely a sigh waiting just behind his lips when he asked, "Do I really have to come right out and demand to know where you got the money? Did you rob a bank or…or are you standing on dark street corners…? I know you love _Pretty Woman_ , but you know stuff like that only happens in the movies, yeah?"

His cheeks flaring brilliant red, Harry suddenly wished he had that mug of tea to bury himself into right then. "Dad, _no_! God, no. You think I would really do something like that?"

"Hey, it's your adult life. Navigate it how you want," his father said through a chuckle. "But, seriously, Harry," he continued in a more somber tone, "should I be concerned?"

Harry continued to stare down at the table, mapping out every grain of wood from memory. Keeping his eyes purposefully trained on that task, he reached into the pocket of his jumper and pulled out the banker's envelope. Inside were three thousand of his hard-earned pounds. "Don't worry about me," he said softly. "Just take care of Mum."

From the instant he took the outstretched envelope, James' eyes were wide and full of alarm. If he was jokingly concerned before, it was real now. "Harry…," he whispered after barely peeking inside. "Where did you get this?" His breath was shaking, but not nearly as badly as his hands. Harry had only seen him this scared just once before.

"It's nothing to be alarmed about," Harry said gently, standing to quiet the whistling kettle. James was too shocked to even register the piercing sound. "It's just hard to explain. I answered a weird ad in the newspaper. Some rich, pretentious asshole is paying me to pretend to be his boyfriend." His father's eyes widened again, even though he'd insinuated he wouldn't judge. "Not like _that_. No sex involved. Sounds like he just wants to piss off his parents or something. I suppose it's a bit insulting that I'm right for that job…but honestly, I thought we could really use the money."

"Your mother and I…we have things handled," James said after a long, thoughtful pause. He pushed the envelope back across the table, something broken in his eyes at the thought of turning it down. "Remus' wife – you remember Tonks, right? - has offered to stay at the house a couple days a week so I can go back to work. She's home all day with the baby anyway. Well…I suppose he's not really a baby anymore…."

"Dad?"

James raised his eyes up from his twisting hands, lingering just a moment on the envelope before meeting Harry's. "I can't take your money."

"You're not _taking_ it. I'm giving it to you." Harry poured out three cups of tea, dressing them all to each individual's taste. One sugar cube for his dad. A splash of milk and two sugars for his mum. And half a cup of milk plus an uncountable amount of sugar for himself. Almost like a strange twist on the _Goldilocks and the Three Bears_ story. He placed the darkest one in front of James, squeezing his dad's shoulder on his way past with the other two. "You can't afford to lose the house."

Behind him, James made more sputtered protests, but Harry ignored them. He wasn't going to argue and he certainly wasn't going to take the money back. He had his own little nest egg squirreled away. Just enough to last him until he found a new job after this… _thing_ he was doing. He was going to match what he'd given his parents once he received the rest of it. They needed the money more.

Not that they would ever admit to it.

Harry paused just for a steeling second outside of his parents' bedroom door. It wasn't right, but he always had to brace himself before dealing with his mother. He just never knew what he was walking into anymore. Maybe he should have asked his father how things were that day. Given himself a bit of a head start.

"Mum?" he whispered as he pushed the door open. He could see her familiar shape nestled up under the blankets. It felt more right to see her lying there than baking away in the kitchen like most mothers. This room and that bed were the homiest places he could think of. Gently, he settled down onto that mattress, set his own cup aside, and placed his free hand on Lily's shoulder. "I've brought you tea…."

Lily stirred just barely, groaning and turning to face him. She was just as beautiful as he ever remembered, even if her face was flecked with more wrinkles than in her youth. He would think she was beautiful until the day she inevitably died. A small smile slipped over her lips, a sweet bleariness clouding her gaze. "Have you now?" she asked quietly and moved to sit up. Halfway into a sitting position, however, the look in her eyes suddenly took on a shade of alarm. "Oh, honey, what's happened to your face?" Her fingers, a bit shaky, reached up to graze over Harry's forehead. "What have you done now, James?"

Not for the first time in his life, Harry cursed just how much he looked like his father. He squeezed his eyes – the only visible trait he'd inherited from his mother – shut for a moment to try and quell the pain shooting through his chest. The scar spanning down the right side of his forehead, just barely cutting into his eyebrow, felt too warm below her touch. A bitter reminder of the less than perfect parts of their life. "Mum, it's me," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "It's Harry. You know what happened…."

Better than anyone, Lily knew what happened. She just often forgot that she knew. She forgot about that night and the car accident. She forgot about nearly killing her infant son as well as herself. She even forgot about her own brain trauma.

Frowning, Lily finished sitting up and leaned in closer. Her fingers, cold as ice, traced over the rest of his face. Caressing the skin, only the barest hint of recognition crossing over her. They lingered in the end upon his round-frame glasses. James hadn't ever needed to wear glasses – another small detail that set them apart. "Harry…." The name sounded foreign on her tongue and it was then that Harry had to admit defeat.

He sighed softly, leaning in to kiss her forehead gently. "Drink up," he said when he pulled back, pressing the warm mug into her hands. "Can I get you anything else? Are you hungry?" She shook her head slowly and he stood, even though all he wanted was to curl up next to her and beg her to remember him. "Dad and I are out in the kitchen if you want to join us," he added before grabbing his tea and leaving. Closing the door behind him felt final and like a betrayal. Like he was giving up on her.

More than anything in the world, Harry had hoped this was going to be a good day. They happened occasionally. Very rarely did they happen when he was around, these days. It had, however, been quite some time since she forgot him completely. That stung. It brought a pain he couldn't quite keep from his face.

"She forgot me, too, earlier."

Harry breathed slowly through his pressed lips. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it in. Holding it inside so he didn't scream. Didn't cry. A whole life of this and he still wasn't fucking used to it.

"It's been awhile since she was this bad," James continued. "I took her to hospital the other day. The doctors said there was a little swelling on her brain again, but they don't know why. We go back again next week to check on things."

"Were you going to tell me?" Harry still couldn't speak at full volume. Not with his dad looking so frail and fragile before him. There was no solidity to their household, especially not in that moment.

James scoffed. "I was, yeah. But then you tossed a wad of money at me and ran off." Harry nodded, unable to deny that he'd done that. "Look…she's fine. She's no worse really than she has been in the past. She'll bounce back." He wrapped one arm around his son, squeezing him in an attempt at an awkward side-hug. "We just have to give her time." With the well-known scratch of his beard, James pressed his lips to Harry's temple. "Now…I have to go give your mother her medication. If she's clearer-headed before dinner we'll all go out to eat. Then you can tell the both of us all about this weird ad you answered."

XxX

The entire train ride back to London, Harry couldn't get his mother's voice from his head. The unsure and unstable way she said his name. She hadn't come back around during the night or that morning. He ate breakfast next to his mother in her teenage years. Which made things awkward when she started to scream at his dad about 'stalking' her. He'd never wanted to leave home in such a hurry.

Leaving home meant he now had to deal with the mess he'd walked himself into. But staying there any longer felt like a good way to erode his soul. With that trauma and dramatic backstory at the forefront of his mind, it was time to get back to his irrational romantic endeavor. Although it was really anything but romantic. The man he was paired with was a complete ass with far too much money to throw around. There was no way any sort of romance was going to be budding there.

"This the right place?"

Harry blinked from his weary daze and turned to look out the window. "Must be…," he muttered, matching the address to the one he'd written down the day before. After thanking and paying the taxicab driver, Harry hauled his overnight bag from the boot. As he heard the car pull away behind him, he stood behind the automated gate and stared up at the house before him.

Honestly, he had been expecting to meet at another place like The Bender. Another café or club or…something posh like an art museum. He wasn't expecting on their second time meeting to be standing in front of Malfoy's house. And he wasn't really expecting _this_ house, in particular. He was not expecting to be dropped off in the middle of a Chigwell gated community, right in front of the most classy brick-faced house he'd ever seen. Not a thing was out of place. The garden out front was blooming with superbly maintained rose bushes. The front lawn was well-kempt and the windows were washed and streakless. The privacy shrubbery was expertly sculped and pleasing to look at. In the drive sat what Harry assumed to be a very expensive sports car. He knew nothing about them, but he still knew what he was looking at was a beauty. Not to mention it was detailed to the absolute nines. This was the type of car that exuded class and wealth. It was a clear advertisement to gold-diggers in front of a picturesque dream home. And it was definitely left out on purpose since it was parked right in front of the garage instead of inside.

Harry _still_ didn't understand why Malfoy had to pay for a fake relationship.

"If you're quite done gawking, we have a lot to discuss!"

And, of course, to complete the picture of rich snobbery, there was the man himself. He stood in the doorway to the house. No, that wasn't right. He _lounged_ in the doorway, shoulder against the frame in what seemed like complete effortlessness. His hair was down, but didn't curtain or cloud his face. It framed him in the way a photographer uses a white sheet to control light and shadows. Standing up there, he looked even more expensive – like a piece of exquisitely chiseled marble.

In his dirty trainers, faded jeans, and oversized jumper, Harry suddenly felt extremely out of place and underdressed. The gate rolled aside in front of him and he took that as his cue to enter the private driveway. "You live here by yourself?" Harry asked, having to practically yell over the distance between them as he made his way up to the house. "It's a bit big, isn't it?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, detaching from the doorway and disappearing inside. "Shoes off!" he called over his shoulder.

Harry could hear the gate closing once more outside. Sealing him in just as he stepped into the entranceway. He closed the door behind him, ensuring his trapped fate and hurried to kick off his dirty trainers. Not that he felt much cleaner in just his dingy, old socks. "It's definitely a _nice_ house," Harry continued, knowing full well he was rambling through his nerves. "Big, but nice. Suppose you could afford it, though. What is it that you do, exactly? For a living, I mean."

Pointedly leaving the question unanswered, Malfoy settled down in the kitchen. Despite the uppity outward appearance, the inside of the house felt homey and warm. Still lush, though, with it's parquet flooring and thick draperies. The kitchen was no exception. Harry had half-expected to see a cook slaving away peeling potatoes or something. He didn't expect to see Malfoy closing a cookbook like he'd actually been reading it. Nor did he think he'd see an entire bookcase of them nestled on the wall next to the cabinets. "Sit," Malfoy urged, returning the book to its shelf, fingers lingering on its spine a half-second too long.

As he'd done the day before, Harry followed the command without a single thought. Although, he did find this one warmer and less master-and-dog-like. More inviting than barking. Like he had to put on less airs when he was in his own home.

"Do you need anything to drink?" Malfoy asked, pouring himself a rather large mug of coffee laced with cream. "I've just made a fresh pot. Or…I can put the kettle on. I also have seltzer water. Or tap if that's what you're more comfortable with."

That felt like a jab, but Harry let it roll off for now. "Coffee is good," he said, feeling the weight of his sleepless night in his bones. "Two sugars and like a third of the cup cream." Instead of following Harry's instructions, Malfoy set an empty mug down before him and brought a tray with the carafe and cream and sugar pots to the table. "Thanks…," Harry mumbled and poured his own.

"How good is your memory?" Malfoy asked as he settled into the chair cater-cornered from Harry. Their knees brushed under the table, but he quickly readjusted to give them less intimacy.

With a shrug, Harry stirred his coffee, watching the cream overtake the color. "Decent, I guess."

Malfoy reached to his right and slid his leather folder from the day before closer. "I hope so. You'll have a lot of information to learn today. I'll need you to do your best to retain it all."

"Why's that?"

As nonchalantly as possible, Draco sipped at the mug softly cradled in his hands and stated, "Because, Potter, tomorrow you meet my parents. After dating for near a year, they'll expect you to know me quite well by now."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Short and uneventful chapter - sorry. More interesting drama coming, I promise!**

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"Near a year? Wouldn't it be easier to say you just picked me up last night?"

Malfoy sighed, rather calmly setting his mug back on the table. "I could pay a prostitute much less than I'm paying you for something like that. If you've changed your mind on doing this…well, then I'll need my money back. I don't have the luxury of time to waste."

Shaking his head slowly, Harry muttered, "No, no…it's fine." He'd already given away part of the money. He was stuck in this, even if it seemed a bit crazy. Not that it hadn't seemed that way from the start.

Like he was sure that was going to be the answer, Malfoy flipped open the folder. "There's really no good place to start...," he mused as he dragged a fingertip down a detailed checklist. "Middle name?"

"James. It's my dad's name."

Malfoy nodded, jotting it down. "Lucius; also my father's name. And your mother?"

"Should I be taking notes, too?" Harry asked, watching that green fountain pen scratch away with an intense fury.

"I have it handled for the both of us," Malfoy insisted, fluttering his hand in the air like it was preposterous just to ask. "Your mother?"

"Lily," Harry breathed softly. The pain from the day before came fluttering back like a stab to the chest at the mention of her name. He attempted to dismiss it again with a large gulp of his coffee.

"Lily and James Potter…. My mother's name is Narcissa. You will also be meeting her sister, Bellatrix. She's married to Rodolphus Lestrange. There's another sister that we don't talk about. Therefore, I want us to try and bring her up in conversation as much as possible." Malfoy looked up at Harry, a flicker of some kind of warmness passing over his features. "Andromeda Tonks is her name."

Harry set his mug down perhaps too hard, startled. "Tonks?" he repeated. "Is she related to a Nymphadora Tonks?"

Malfoy's brow rose in interest. "My cousin…."

With a grin, Harry relaxed back. It felt weirdly satisfying to connect himself in a roundabout way to this family of unattainable status. "She's married to my dad's best mate," he stated smugly. "Small world, huh?"

With another roll of his eyes, Draco continued to take notes. "You'll also be meeting my paternal grandfather - Abraxas. He's the only grandparent I have left and he hates me more than anything in the world. Well…he might end up hating _you_ more in the end. We'll see…. Make conversation with him about menial, plebeian things. Actually…." He tilted his head to once side and then the other, thinking for a silent moment. "All conversations you start with anyone should be dreadfully boring and unrefined.

"Except the ones you strike up with me. Those should convey to anyone listening in that you are absolutely head-over-heels in love with me."

Harry had never been in love. He'd watched enough movies and read enough books to know what it was like. But in practicality, he'd never had to convince someone that he was _in love_. "I'll try my best?" Harry offered, trying hard to sound sure but coming off flaky.

"If you're not convincing, you don't get the other five thousand pounds," Malfoy said simply and returned back to his list. He ran through a few more questions - birthdates (they were the same age, Harry was barely the younger one), education (of course, Malfoy had attended boarding school), and allergies (was it really possible to be allergic to the sun?). All of the new information was swimming in Harry's half-focused brain. It felt like too much. But he needed to do this. The day previous was a perfect example as to why. There was no way his dad could go back to work any time soon. He was needed at home. Lily needed him.

"So…," Harry started when Malfoy stood to start another pot of coffee. They'd already run through the previous one and were still growing weary. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm bored."

With his back turned, it was impossible to tell if Malfoy was serious in his reply. Harry had a feeling he might not be, even if he wouldn't own up to it.. "And…why tomorrow?"

Sighing heavily like Harry's questions were annoying him, Malfoy once again answered to the coffee pot. "My parents' anniversary. Twenty-five _fucking_ years…. They're getting the family together for a week-long celebration."

"We're going to be there for a week?"

Suddenly, with that small nod, Harry felt instantly overwhelmed. Pretending to be madly in love with someone for one day was going to be difficult enough. He didn't know this man. Even with all of this information mucking up his brain, he still didn't even begin to know who he _really_ was. Love wasn't superficial. Love wasn't fakeable. Harry was a firm believer in love and the beauty of its spontaneity. In its natural ability to make magic a real and tangible thing. But this? He didn't believe in this or any of it working. It was fake. It was a setup. And a week of this? A week where he would most likely have to share a bed with a stranger? Well, that wasn't something he had any sort of faith in. "I didn't agree to this," Harry muttered, pushing up from his chair. "You didn't tell me it was for a _week_."

With a shrug, Malfoy finally turned back around to face him. "You didn't ask for specifics," he stated. "You, rather stupidly, just entered into an agreement without knowing what was expected of you. Did you read the contract you signed yesterday? Of course you didn't…. But this _is_ why I picked you, I suppose. I needed someone quite stupid and here you fucking are."

How was Harry expected to even _pretend_ to love this insufferable arse? But, unfortunately, he had indeed signed a binding contract. If he didn't follow through, then he'd have to find a way to return the advance. A way that didn't involve taking money out of his parents' hands. "I can play stupid for you if that's what you what. I can play 'peasant' while you play 'pauper'. But you know you can't treat people like that in normal life, right?" Harry stepped closer into the kitchen, feeling weirdly awkward and unconfident in his stockinged feet. "Even if you are paying them…."

Unfazed, Malfoy turned with the newly refreshed tray and walked right past Harry. "We still have a lot to go over," he said in that hurried and impatient voice. "You have to learn how we met and what our inside jokes are." He sat back down, flipping through more pages of his legal pad. "Do you sleep in pyjamas or in the nude? I just want to be prepared…."

Harry fists balled at his sides, but he didn't move otherwise. "How much longer is this going to take?" he seethed through his teeth. Trying very hard to keep some sort of cool. Some control and calm when all he wanted was to slap the smugness out of this man.

"That all depends on you, really. If you're as smart as you say you might be, we could be done within a few hours." Malfoy smirked, turning just enough for Harry to see it. "Prove me wrong, Potter."

XxX

Harry wasn't sure if he had proved anything by it exactly, but he did manage to get through all of the information Malfoy wanted learnt within those next few hours. By the time night had just begun to set, he was thankfully looking at Malfoy's house from over his shoulder. Watching it disappear through the back window of a cab. For the night, he was through with this strange charade. He was expected back early the next morning, of course. But in that moment, his life was his own and it felt more refreshing than he could have imagined before.

"For _Christ_ , Harry," Hermione exclaimed the instant he finally walked back through their apartment door. "I've been worrying about you. Where have you been?"

He calmly set his overnight bag down by the door. "I left you a note."

Scrambling up off the sofa, Hermione practically stomped over to the kitchen counter where Harry had left said note the night before. "' _Out for the night. See you tomorrow._ ' Yeah, that's incredibly reassuring. Where. Were You?"

"Visiting my parents…," Harry supplied, pointedly avoiding her eyes as he sloughed off the stress of the day. And knowing all too well that he was going to have to be real with her about Malfoy any minute.

"You know you can tell me if you were on a date or something. Right? You don't have to lie."

Unable to stop himself, a sharp laugh burbled up from Harry's throat. "Jesus, fuck, Hermione! I really was visiting my parents." He sank into the spot on the couch she had recently vacated. It was a different kind of home than the one he'd grown up in. Their apartment smelt like Hermione's hair gel and had the kind of comforting warmth his parents' house never did these days. He loved both places, but sometimes it did feel good to escape to a place he could call his own. _Their_ own. "Mum's not doing well…."

In half a second, Hermione dropped the anger and followed him into sitting. "Oh, Harry…. I'm sorry. You should have called me. I would have come with."

"It was sort of a last-minute trip," Harry said to his hands. The truth was right there, ready to come pouring out. After the events of that day, he was honestly ready to let it out and find some sort of comfort. "I, uh…. I came into some money yesterday and thought they could use some of it…."

"Came into some money?" Hermione shifted beside him. She was clearly struggling between concern and her need to _know_. "More than what you left with your note?"

"A bit more, yeah… About…five-thousand pounds, to be exact…."

When Harry told his dad, James reacted with a smile and a laugh. He encouraged him to be smart about this transaction, but in no way made to stop him. Harry was an adult, he'd said, and as an adult he had to navigate the 'weird' things however he thought appropriate. James and Lily had always been lax like that.

Hermione had never been lax like that. She knew what was best and she certainly made sure to impart her overwhelming amount of wisdom. "You've done something stupid again, haven't you?"

It was instantly easy to tell that Harry was guilty. Against his own will, his head bowed and his cheeks flushed a deep red. He couldn't deny it even if he tried. His body had already given him away. "I haven't quite decided yet if it's stupid. But I'm sure you'll determine it is."

"Out with it, then," Hermione sighed. She already had that look. She was already judging him. She was already sure that she was going to be right in the end and he would be wrong.

"I may be…fake dating a guy for money," Harry said on a rush and winced, waiting for the recourse.

Hermione's response was quiet. "Like…like Vivian Ward?" Soft. Like she didn't quite believe what she'd heard.

With a nervous chuckle, Harry shook his head slowly back and forth. "No…no, I have no plans to sleep with him." Hermione could have argued that Richard Gere's character really hadn't planned for that, either, in the beginning. But she let him realize this on his own it seemed, merely folding her arms across her chest in disapproval. "He had an ad in the lonely hearts. I might have answered it. Apparently this guy is trying to piss of his parents, or something. And I have…no direction in my life currently so I am the best candidate for the job. It's highly insulting and…a weirdly decent way to make money while I'm in-between jobs."

For the longest moment, Hermione just nodded. She'd seen her best friend through a million stupid mistakes. This was nowhere near as dumb as the time he stole his dad's motorcycle and crashed it only a street away from his house. Or…maybe it was about the same level. He could see all the gears turning behind her eyes. She was worrying about everything he hadn't even thought to think of yet. "You don't even know this man," she said quietly. "What's his name? I need to know his name if you're going to end up _dead_." Her voice steadily rose in pitch, eventually ending in a bit of a shriek. To accompany it, she was once again on her feet. Pacing. Fretting.

"He's just some rich prick," Harry said, relaxing back and throwing his feet up in violent contrast to her ram-straight posture. "Draco Malfoy is his name." Hermione halted her steps abruptly. " _What_?"

"He's not just some rich prick," she stressed before resuming her frantic path back and forth across the carpet. "The Malfoy family name is like a ghostly threat in parliament. I really don't know how to explain it. You hear whispers of the name and suddenly…bad things follow…. The family gets their way no matter what. And when they do…. It's not good, Harry. Classism, racism, _homophobia_ …dirty rumors about where their money even comes from…."

"Well, good thing I'm not joining their political bandwagon," Harry joked back, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling slipping into his belly.

"Harry, this is serious."

With a sigh to cover his doubts, Harry stood and pulled Hermione from her daze. Literally. He grabbed ahold of her hands, jerking her towards him and into a crushing, swaying hug. "It's just acting," he said gently in her ear, her frantic breaths filling his own. "It's just one week of free reign to annoy the smug, well-to-dos on their own dime."

"A whole _week_?"

"Yes, a whole week. And I will come out of this ten-thousand pounds richer and probably have a great story to tell your kids one day." Hermione snorted a watery laugh. He felt tears on his shoulder. She really was worried. "Listen," he whispered, pushing her back to wipe away the wet streaks on her cheeks, "I'll call you every night I'm there. Just to check in, so you know I'm not dead in a ditch. I know what you're worried about. I don't think this bloke would bring a guy to meet his parents if he thought they might do something to harm him. He's a git, but I don't think he's down with murder. Besides, he's also a bit of a ponce. If they were the gay-killing type…they probably would've offed him by now. Right?"

The more Harry thought about it, the more nervous he was really becoming. Especially after what Hermione had told him about the family. He wasn't the type to be irrationally afraid, really. He considered himself a pretty brave person. But he couldn't deny the gnawing at his conscience. He couldn't silence the torrential waterfall of what-if's now flashing through his mind at breakneck speeds. "Everything will be fine. I'm sure it'll all just be a laugh," Harry restressed, more probably for his sake now than Hermione's. "Look, I have to get packed and be back at Malfoy's house early tomorrow morning. Want to help me pick out my most 'peasanty' clothes for my week with the supposed leaders of the intolerance movement?"


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: As I've stated in my other works, this last year has been CRAZY and shitt... So, I'm sorry for this late update to this work, but I definitely haven't forgotten about it. Please enjoy the new chapter and let me know what you're thinking!**

* * *

The drive from Malfoy's house to his parents' home in Wiltshire was over two bloody hours long. Over two bloody hours filled with the same damn Elton John CD on repeat over and over and over again. (Harry had the fleeting thought that Malfoy was trying to prove just how queer he might be, but dismissed this easily. This man and his delicate fingers had nothing to prove.) The only times Elton's voice even dimmed in the car – never turned off, merely quieter – was when Malfoy would suddenly remember to quiz Harry on something. It was likely the longest, most drawn out period of time in Harry's life. And that definitely included every minute he'd ever spent in a hospital waiting room.

He couldn't quite imagine a week of this man and his likely horrid family yet. But he was starting to feel like he might be able to. It was going to be pure torture.

They were practically in the middle of beautiful nowhere by the time the delicate purr of the car ceased. To both sides of them was a forest of lush trees as far as the eye could see. They'd been driving down this road for quite some time, Harry watching the verdant green go by in a daze. And now that they were stopped…the trees seemed thicker than he had previously noticed. Enclosing this house in front of them in pure, unbreakable privacy.

Upon first glance, it was like a fairytale castle rising up before them. Parapets and all. But the longer Harry stared up past the hedges and the gate keeping them out, the more that image changed in his mind. It was all so…dark and cold looking. Nothing about the house seemed inviting. Every bit of it screamed ' _Keep Out_ ' to anyone who dared to come close. It was more of a blatantly obvious haunted house than anything out of even the most twisted Disney princess movie.

"We go on foot from here."

The car was nestled in 'park' and Malfoy was leaving Harry alone inside. His nerves buzzing beneath his skin. His bottom lip between his teeth in worry. His head full of conflicting thoughts like hopping over the console and hijacking the nicest car he'd ever seen versus the logical thing of exiting the vehicle as well. Logic won out in the end. Harry, slow-as-molasses, swung open the passenger-side door and exposed himself to that uninviting cold coming off the house before him. "You grew up here?" chattered out past his lips before he could stop it, disbelief hanging on every word. How could anyone have a childhood in a place that felt like this?

Malfoy merely scoffed and led them up the drive. The gate sat halfway up but by the time they reached it, it was already swinging open for them. The hedges never broke the entire way to the house and the chill down Harry's spine never dissipated. It became especially unbearable once they reached the front door – massive and reminiscent of the one the villagers ram down to attack the Beast – and Malfoy muttered in a hollow, haunting voice, "Welcome to Malfoy Manor…."

It really was like some sort of surreal dream. Possibly a nightmare. Yet to be determined. Everything around Harry was honestly too much to be true. The air around this house was too clean, flush with all the best of the vegetation enclosing them. It was practically overflowing with life everywhere he looked – even within the confines of the grounds, gardens flourished and birds fluttered – but the ghost of some darkness akin to death hung heavy in every particle he breathed and every sight he took in. And the house? Malfoy was right in referring to it as a manor. It was large and likely lonely, cut off out here from anyone and anything else. It was something out of a Victorian romance novel about high class, white privilege.

This was not a house and likely wasn't a home.

"Oh, get out of the _way_ , Dobby!"

Wincing at the sudden commanding shriek, Harry stepped back from the large door as it swung open. He was a few millimeters taller than Malfoy, but attempted to shield himself behind the other man anyway. The step difference helped. From around his barricade, Harry could just barely see a woman, looking as shrill as the manor itself, gazing down at Malfoy with a half-smile. Warm, yet quite aloof. "Morning, Mother," he greeted, but made no attempt to step closer.

"Good morning, my darling," the woman simply stated back. The words of affection were there, but behind them lay no real meaning. Her face was sharp like the younger Malfoy's, but held none of the softness around the eyes. Instead, they read that it was weakness to truly show the validity of those words. "Give Dobby your keys and he'll put your car in the garage."

Malfoy did as instructed, slipping his too-cluttered keyring into the palm of a short, hunched man who must have been hiding just around the doorframe. Likely the butler. He was too knobby and fragile-looking to be of any more strenuous use than that. And as he hobbled down the drive, away from the house, Harry was certain he could hear the man muttering things to himself. Cursing himself.

"Draco, darling, step aside – it seems the agency's pick for our new cook followed you up."

"What happened to our old cook?" Malfoy asked, turning to see who she was referring to.

Harry turned, as well, feeling very much the fly on the proverbial wall. But there was no one behind him. And this woman's eyes were strictly focused right. On. Him. And this wasn't something they had prepared for. And he was most definitely freezing.

"Oh, _Jesus_ , Mother." Harry could practically feel the eye roll. "Since when do you color code the staff?"

Malfoy didn't come to Harry's rescue. He just left him to try and defend his presence on his own. Like a rotting fish on a pristine beach. Perhaps it was payback for calling him out the day previous. Or maybe he was just that much of an asshole. A game Harry could play, as well. Or…die by the sting of a thousand wasps just trying. After all, he was being paid for his acting. Why not make the most of it?

"Be gentle on her, Draco. She doesn't know any better," Harry said. He stated it loud and proud, his voice not the least bit shaky. Or…he was hoping it wasn't, because inside he was quaking. His hand was just as unsteady when he extended it to the woman, his other arm looping around her son's waist. Pulling him close and receiving a waft of his sweet cologne. A scent that could very easily be described as intoxicating, if the man behind it weren't so repugnant. Just for putting that contradiction into his head, Harry made sure to really sell his presence on this doorstep. " _Darling_ , perhaps you should explain to your mother just why I shouldn't be cooking?"

"Harry's absolute poison waiting to happen in the kitchen, I swear." Malfoy was disappointingly quick on his feet. And his palm was now firmly and distractingly placed on the upper half of Harry's arse. Quickly, Harry shifted so their hands were clasped instead. He didn't like the way the previous placement had stirred his gut. "Mother, this isn't our new cook. This is…." He must have felt enough clues had been given because he didn't finish that thought. He just left it to hang in the air during the inevitable long and uncomfortable pause, his eyebrow raised conspiratorially.

Once she finally chose to break that silence, Narcissa laughed. Razor-sharp and an insult waiting to happen; it took everything Harry had in him to not take a cautionary step backwards from it and her. "Oh, thank goodness!" she exclaimed, quite the opposite of how he'd expected her to react. If Malfoy was any indication to his family, excitement didn't seem to be in their genes. "I was so worried for a moment there about our food becoming unbearably spicy." She laughed again, the insult even closer to the surface this time. "I have a very delicate palate," she whispered, leaning in for extra effect. Like if she said it that way or defended herself, she wasn't being racist.

Even as she pointedly ignored Harry's offered hand, her nose wrinkled in displeasure. Her thoughts were, likely purposefully, transparent. He let that free hand fall back to his side, just barely keeping his fingers from curling into a frustrated fist. "Isn't that unfortunate," he pressed out around other less polite options. The only feature Harry had inherited from his mother was her eyes which left him with a diluted pigment of his grandmother's heritage. A trademark of a culture he hardly knew as she had died before he was born and his father never spoke much of it. She had always been dead nana Euphemia, that beautiful woman in the photographs who had the shape of his lips. This was, really, the first time in his life he'd ever felt he was meant to be ashamed of his olive-toned skin. He felt like he was meant to defend himself, but had no stored ammo for it. He had half a mind to correct her, but Narcissa was already turning back into the manor.

"Do come in, darling. Dobby will bring your things from the car."

It was too late; he would just have to work in the admonishment sometime else during this crazy week. He was going to make it a top priority and Hermione would have been proud. He would have to make sure to mention this to her when they talked that night.

"Lunch should be ready soon."

Narcissa led them through too-wide hallways past ornate and resolutely closed doors. The outside of the manor was only a start to the lavish and wonder held within. Everything looked expensive, even the floor and Harry found himself nearly tip-toeing. If his dirty trainers were inadequate in the younger Malfoy's home, then this must be considered an act or terrorism. "You have a lovely home," was all Harry could find to say to keep from totally combusting. It was a vast understatement, but something expected right?

At his side, Malfoy was grinning in his own muted way.

"Lovely?" Narcissa showed teeth, sneering more than smiling. Insulted more than flattered. "I suppose that could be a way to describe generations of luxury and decadence."

It was quite easy, at that moment, to say Harry's first impression of this woman was that he hated her. She was every evil queen presented in a tidy, poised package.

Suddenly, ten thousand pounds didn't seem like it would be nearly enough.

"In the meantime," Narcissa continued, brushing off the interruption that was Harry's ineptitude, "we are having drinks in the parlor." She stopped before one of those heavy, closed doors. For just a moment, she took a second to breathe, preparing her mask after a quick and nervous look back at her son.

When she pushed the door open, it was the most grand and stunning gesture. Effortless but still dramatic enough to draw all attention to her entrance. Or perhaps that was just her natural pull and presence. (All the more reason to hate her….)

Harry made to follow, holding back an eye roll, but Malfoy hesitated next to him. And apparently they were still holding hands…. A fact Harry had somehow overlooked in his mild state of terror. Trying to judge this sudden timidity, he whispered, "Do they know? That you're… _you know_?"

"Knowing and recognizing are two different concepts entirely," Malfoy ground through his teeth. The small interaction, however, seemed to be just what he needed to wake from that hesitant stupor. With a shake of his head, he shifted back into the confident person he had been thus far and strode into the room after his mother.

"Draco's brought a guest," Narcissa explained as she lowered herself delicately onto a backless chaise. Never once had Harry thought a piece of furniture could be an accessory, but there was no way to deny the way this choice of seating accentuated her perfect poise and posture.

There were only two other people in the room and Harry instantly knew who they were.

Draco was nearly an exact clone of his father Lucius, the unforgiving man draped in a plush armchair. They had the same platinum shade of blond hair and both wore it long and tied back. Their faces were equally angled and equally set in a hybrid expression of smugness and the nose wrinkle of someone who might have stepped in dog shit. Most of all, however, they were both extremely attractive. In comparison, Narcissa looked almost bland, which should have been impossible.

Abraxas was also easily identifiable because Malfoy had painted a perfect picture of him, right down to the extravagantly technical wheelchair parked in front of the roaring fire. He looked not only quite old and frail, but also like he had the largest stick in the world wedged expertly up his ass. It was easy to believe he might revile absolutely anything and everything and make it known. Just the way he was eyeing Harry in that moment, a queer man who thought he actually passed rather easily, spoke louder than words ever could. What exactly did that mean for his infamous wicked tongue?

Neither man spoke for a good minute. They sipped at their glasses of more-than-expensive scotch, eyes narrowed but otherwise outwardly silent about the seemingly shocking occurrence of their prized heir holding hands with another man. Ignorance truly did seem to be bliss.

"You didn't tell us you were bringing a _friend_ ," Lucius finally said, relaxing his taut grip on his glass after regaining a bit of the control.

"I thought it would be a fun surprise," Malfoy said coolly. He was so damn calm. "This is Harry Potter and he is my _boyfriend_. He'll be sleeping in my bed, so at least you won't have to worry about making up a room."

Not a single one of the Malfoys looked like they enjoyed fun. Nor was this likely their idea of fun, which was likely why Malfoy was doing this. He seemed the type to enjoy torturing people…. Even the ones he might love.

"Draco…make Mummy a Cosmo, would you?" Narcissa raised a brow towards Harry, gesturing to the sofa across from her. Like she wanted him to sit down as close to her as possible…which just didn't track. "Draco's quite the skilled bartender."

"I've had quite a lot of practice."

They had prepared in the last day probably too extensively. Harry knew Malfoy's football stats from his time at that prestigious boarding school in the middle of nowhere Scotland. He knew the names of every single nanny the man had from age two. Hell, he even knew what side of the bed they were both supposed to prefer. What Harry realized they hadn't practiced, however, came when he was least expecting it. Which nearly cost them this entire 'operation'.

It was likely Malfoy was going for shock value. And Harry was rightfully shocked when his chin was grasped so tenderly and pulled in for a kiss. He gasped, Malfoy smirked against his lips, and a mere second later it was over. "Why don't you have a seat?" Malfoy urged, his voice gentle. "I'll bring you a drink, too."

Harry was sure he was going to need that drink as he stumbled towards the sofa. In the seconds that kiss had lasted, he didn't feel himself. He didn't…feel like he was _just_ himself. He had felt connected and secured and…well, it was nice. There was no way he could deny that it felt _good_ , that kiss. And he couldn't deny that for just a moment – just that singular moment – he felt like maybe there was more to Malfoy than he presented to the world. And just that thought put him in a sort of stupor.

"So… _Harry_ …."

Eyes wide, Harry looked up quickly from his tangled and twisting hands. "Hm?" he intonated while gathering himself. Putting all thoughts of Malfoy being a human fucking being out of his head before flashing a shaky smile at the man's mother.

Narcissa responded with a smile, as well, but hers held not even the semblance of faked warmth. "Where are you from?"

It was rather likely that she expected him to expound on his 'ethnic' look. To detail his Pakistani background and be proud of it just so she could find some way to make him feel less than for it. With this in mind, he merely shrugged, gaze settled on Malfoy as he prepared three separate drinks at the small wet bar in the corner. As he watched from the corner of his eye to ensure Harry made no mistakes. "I was born in Bristol; my parents still live there. But I've lived in London now for a couple years. I think I'd say both places could easily be called home."

"The two of you live together?"

Lucius easily sounded disgusted and for some reason that filled Harry with the pride of having done something right. "No, no. Not yet," Harry laughed and leaned back into the cushions. He once again cut his eyes towards Malfoy, but made sure it was obvious this time. Made sure he seemed to gaze upon the man with a look of love and adoration. "Someday, I hope. But for now I live with my childhood friend, Hermione. We moved to the city together after we finished our schooling."

Nodding slowly, Lucius rolled the frustration off his shoulders and took a sip from his glass. The room echoed with the clink of ice, a precarious danger lingering just under the surface of the room's tension. Just under the cool façade he presented to the world. Hermione's warnings ran through Harry's mind. He wasn't likely to forget what she thought this man and this family were capable of.

Cutting through this tension with a simple clear of his throat, Malfoy sat himself down right beside Harry. Closer than uncomfortably close. He fielded out the drinks in his hands. The most perfect Cosmopolitan Harry had ever seen, of course, went to Narcissa. And she downed nearly the entire glass in one gulp. Watching this, Harry accepted his own drink – a simple bottle of beer – while he watched Draco drink from what appeared to be a gin and tonic. "Thank you, love," he dutifully muttered and hoped he wasn't betrayed by a blush.

It would have been extremely naïve to not recognize the awkward pause at that moment. The three elder Malfoys sipped on their drinks, eyes to the floor like there was nothing else reasonable to say. They didn't ask for any more information about Harry and they certainly didn't ask about the relationship between these two young men. They would have rather all sat there, saying nothing, than to acknowledge any further the intrusion of this unworthy person in theirs and their son's lives.

This person who tainted their heir. This person who they couldn't help but to imagine _fucking_ their well-bred and perfect son. A thought that only managed to spin Harry even closer to a breaking point. Especially since once he'd thought it, it was all he could imagine as well. Malfoy – naked and pale and spread out over the armrest of that life-changing chaise lounge. Begging in a way he'd never had to before.

To suppress these unwelcome pictures flooding his mind, Harry took a long and deep swig of his beer. Not a sip like these dainty, high-class mannequins. No, a real drink to properly show his need to escape that very moment. And to set the tone for just what kind of person Malfoy wanted him to be. To show them in one simple gesture that he was the exact opposite of what they wanted for this perfect little prince of theirs.

Which was what he was here for, after all. Right? He'd been paid for this. He'd be paid even more for truly selling it.

So he smiled and he shifted just enough to close the gap between the two of them. He laid his hand over Malfoy's. He squeezed. And when Malfoy gazed back at him, absolutely any person looking on would think the two of them were in love.

As terrified as he was, Harry couldn't help but to feel a momentary twinge of excitement for what the next week might bring.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This chapter has been sitting 90% finished for probably about a year. My life went from devastating to crazy last year. My wife and I moved to a new city and have new jobs. From this change, I now have more downtime. But I haven't felt the spark to write. I'm working hard to change that! And finally, this new chapter was finished out. I feel so much relief! As always, please let me know what you thought of it and happy reading!!**

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It turned out the cook had quit. And it also turned out that, though Narcissa was aware of this, she didn't connect it to the absence of someone there to prepare their lunch. She didn't realize this until they'd been sitting there for over an hour. Harry couldn't help but to feel like this was the perfect example of rich privilege.

Beside him, Malfoy sighed heavy and slow through his nose. Like he was resigned and used to this. Like he wasn't the least bit surprised. "Give me fifteen minutes," he muttered, squeezing Harry's hand quickly (and a bit too tightly) before leaving the room to somehow fix this problem.

Leaving him alone with his family.

Leaving him to the wolves, who descended the instant they could no longer hear his footsteps.

"How much will it take?"

Harry simply blinked for a moment. This was something they had practiced for. Malfoy warned him someone would want to pay him off. He warned him that they would be angry and want to do anything to get him to leave. And they would offer more than he was, but the offer wasn't to be trusted. Their money wasn't innocent. Doing as instructed, Harry raised a brow and turned towards Abraxas. This was the first he'd spoken since they'd arrived and it sounded like every syllable cost him precious minutes of his life. "Sorry, I don't understand," he feigned. This acting thing wasn't turning out to be so difficult.

"You don't belong here," Abraxas rasped, delicately maneuvering his wheelchair across the room with just the tilt of a finger. Even in his fragile state, he was menacing. "How much money will it take to make you leave and never come back?"

"Is it because I'm Paki?" Harry asked with a wicked grin, taking full advantage of the brown tinge of his skin.

Abraxas narrowed his eyes, not saying a word. Not wanting to be caught with racism so violently on his lips.

"Or poor? Or… _queer_?" Harry snorted when the man flinched. When all three of them flinched. "Or a combination of all three maybe? If I had milky white tits and a trust fund, would I be welcomed to stay?"

Likely attempting to diffuse the tension, Narcissa laughed. Or…cackled, might have been more apt. "You have quite the mouth, don't you?"

Although he didn't and likely wouldn't ever have the chance to know such information, Harry had to hold back the urge to spit _"Draco seems to enjoy it"_ in their smug faces. But that was likely to get him thrown out on his ass – surely that crossed a line – so he swallowed it and made himself more comfortable by bringing his feet up under him. Smearing whatever was on his diary trainers into that likely priceless sofa while only registering mild thrill in it. "I can't be bought," he lied, making sure he met Abraxas' yellowing eyes when he said it. "And how would Draco feel to know you tried to buy me?"

The better question was probably – _Did_ Draco feel? Anything? At all? And how was any of this fun for him?

"One of these days, Draco will have to grow up," Narcissa sighed, emptying her third Cosmo of the hour.

"And what does that mean?"

"He has responsibilities to shoulder that cannot be done while on the arm of another man. You would be doing him a favor if you took the money and left."

"Lunch is ready…."

Narcissa cut her gaze swiftly to the floor, blushing a soft pink that complimented her features nicely at being caught. Malfoy had to have heard at least the tail end of what she'd said. Not that anyone would know it with the way he kept his composure. With his shoulders squared and his hands clasped and poised in front of him.

They all went through lunch in an awkward silence. Either no one knew what to say, or found they weren't courageous enough to say it. And Harry, most of all, felt the quiet was more comfortable. Even if Malfoy was shooting him looks over his salad, expecting him to do something. To say something or make a move to make his family further uncomfortable.

Harry rationalized they were on edge enough for the moment. And so was he. This thing they were doing was starting to feel less like fun and much more serious. He hadn't really signed on for a political statement. He wasn't sure he had what was required of someone so strong. People like that were likely far better adjusted in life than he was.

A point he made quite loudly to Malfoy the instant they were behind a closed door. A point which was ignored as he was muttering his own grievances against his family. "Quit my ass…. Greta didn't quit. They're losing it…."

"Were they truly incapable of putting their own salads together?"

Malfoy snorted, a truly unattractive gesture that somehow only exacerbated his stunning features. "No. No, they're human beings, Potter. Sometimes they just forget to act like it." He tugged at his tie, loosening it like he was being strangled by the responsibility it carried. Like being put together in that moment was too difficult. Like he, himself, might even be a fucking human being after all.

Harry didn't really know how to reconcile that with the very little he knew about this man, so he sighed heavily and looked around. They were in Malfoy's childhood bedroom and it was surreal. The rest of the house, at least what he'd seen of it so far, was pristine and intentionally put together. Everything was beautifully Victorian gothic (Harry assumed, because he really had no other words in his repertoire to describe it). Everything was uniform and decorated with the utmost class. And then there was this room so filled with teenage personality…. It just didn't fit into this world the Malfoys created for their existence.

"Corey Feldman, huh?" he questioned, only pulling a face towards Malfoy for a mere moment. It became suddenly apparent that they'd be in these extremely close quarters for the next week. Which was a lot to handle when it felt like a mere look from Malfoy could set him on fire.

Instead of ignoring the small dig, as Harry expected, Malfoy genuinely smiled for just a second. "Been meaning to take that one down…. He's still decently attractive, even after all the drugs. What can I say, I have a thing for troubled men…."

This unexpected insight into Malfoy's mind left Harry with a revelation. This room was a safe space. This was where he could be himself, with the self he was just maybe not matching the rest of his family downstairs. Maybe. He was still pretty much a pompous asshole, even if he did have Jamie Redknapp, shirtless, posted above his bedside table. "Liverpool?" Harry scoffed. He just couldn't help himself….

"Troubled men, Potter," Malfoy repeated and literally fell back into his bed. He closed his eyes, rubbing over them with closed fists while splayed haphazardly over the decidedly hideous floral bedspread. It reminded him of a vintage blazer he'd once seen in a shop window.

"How much did they offer you?"

Harry frowned, settling himself on the bench at the foot of the bed. This way he didn't have to look at Malfoy and he could still gaze about the room. From this position, he was offered a perfect view of bookshelves cluttered with various classic titles and an innumerable amount of trophies. "They didn't mention a number," he said quietly, feeling like he had failed some sort of test in this mission. "Your grandfather asked how much it would take and I shot him down. And…and that's mostly it…." He left out the parts where he sassed back and especially the too-real mention of responsibilities he could never understand or fit into. Whatever that all meant….

For a moment, Malfoy let them sit in silence and Harry fidgeted with the fraying cushion beneath him. Another anomaly which he imagined could only be found in this room – imperfection. "Grandfather was the one to ask?" Malfoy verified eventually.

"Yes."

Harry heard him breathe out slowly, the weight of something clearly hidden in it. Likely anger at him for not performing in the way he had hoped. "They won't bother us until dinner. My father has some… _work_ to do and asked that we stay up here until the time comes. God forbid his colleagues…." He trailed off. "It would just be better if we stayed up here and planned for tonight."

"Plan? Plan what?"

"Come here." The too-loud sound of a hand hitting the mattress filled the room.

What choice did Harry have but to do as instructed? He rose slowly from the bench, stepping towards the left side of the bed. Lowering himself upon it so carefully one would think he was trying not to set off a landmine. Perching just barely on the edge of admittedly the most comfortable mattress in the world. Was this what luxury really felt like? Because he could probably get used to it…. Unless it meant lying next to this stone-cold twat. "What are we planning?" Nevertheless, he gave in and sunk back into what was to be his side for a week. His head had never been cradled by anything softer than that pillow beneath him.

Malfoy reached behind him, grabbing onto the headboard and pulling himself up close to it, not letting go once he was fully sitting up. He kept his grip until his knuckles went whiter than Harry thought possible considering his already marble complexion. Was he holding back violence? Should Harry be even more worried than he already rightfully was? "The rest of the family will be here for dinner. If you think my grandfather is intense, you won't be ready for my aunt Bellatrix."

"We talked about her."

"In passing. You'll need a bit more than that, though." Malfoy shifted. Was he nervous, maybe, instead? "She'll say what she means without hesitation. Are you ready for that?"

"You clearly didn't hear me blurt out the words 'milky white tits' earlier."

There came that genuine smile once again. It caught Harry so off-guard he nearly forgot this was all a ruse for a second. He nearly tried to scoot closer. He nearly…. Harry frowned at the thought of wanting to kiss Malfoy, as fleeing as it may have been. Maybe he really was Vivian Ward. "You should definitely keep doing that. You'll be kicked out by the end of the night."

Harry panicked. His eyes widened and his cheeks pinked. He couldn't hide it - he'd been caught. (How had Malfoy read his mind?) But as soon as he remembered himself and the actual, out-loud conversation they were having, he quickly looked away while burbling a suspicious laugh. "Is that what the plan is, then? To get me kicked out? Because if that's we want, I could have said something earlier that would have done the trick."

That good mood didn't last. The switch inside of Malfoy – the dutiful son switch – flipped back on violently and suddenly. "Your objective," he said, toneless, "is to do what you're told. If you can't handle that, you can leave and forfeit the rest of your payment."

Their dynamic was back to exactly the way it had been. The sanctity of this room and its vulnerability was tainted with its ugliness. Harry lost any of the comfort he might have been feeling as he lifted up into a sitting position, legs dangling off the bed for a quick escape. "Pretty sure that's what I've been doing so far..."

"I should've chosen someone who wasn't so defensive…."

Yep, all feelings of intimacy were successfully gone. Harry rolled his eyes. "Just tell me what you want, Malfoy. Word for word. I can't both be creative and defensive towards your family and brainless and complicit with you. It's not something I can easily turn off."

"I honestly thought being brainless was your natural state."

Harry wanted to punch him. He wanted to punch Malfoy in that smug little face of his. If he did, he would likely lose out on that extra five thousand pounds…but it just might be worth it. It was hard to believe someone of his supposed stature had actually ever been clocked for real. When Daddy had money, grievances could be purchased instead of settled. But he just knew, after having known Malfoy for only a few days, that he had likely deserved it all his life. And it felt only fitting that Harry, this dark-skinned nobody from Bristol, be the one to deflower that fresh virgin-white mouth.

Not that he by _any_ means meant to deflower this man. That wasn't the correct word choice for what he wanted. It was too poetic and romantic to represent the violence rushing through Harry's veins.

"Dinner is, of course, going to be very formal. However, you should dress in…." Malfoy looked him up and down, taking in Harry's basic t-shirt and jeans. He was back in full maniacal focus. "Just stay in that; it's perfect. Not that you probably have any options which would be fitting, but this very clearly says you don't give a single fuck."

"So glad that comes across…."

"I think I'll have a bath before this inevitable train wreck," Malfoy continued like Harry hadn't spoken at all. Which was pretty on par with the last few days. "Just stay here and…." He paused in his mission towards a door across the room, taking a moment to assess Harry again from the corner of his eye. "Don't touch anything. Or move. Just _stay_."

There were those dog-like commands again. Harry squinted at Malfoy's slim figure until the door closed behind him. At this point, he was about ninety-nine percent certain this man didn't have friends. And he certainly didn't have a real boyfriend or partner or…. Could anyone even stand him long enough to be a fuck buddy?

With a huffing, resigned sigh, Harry flopped back upon the mattress again. The high ceiling above was marred with those plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. The kind children put up to keep them from being afraid of the nighttime. Harry frowned up at them, still unable to make sense of all of Malfoy's contrary pieces.

And one sudden, contrary piece in particular….

From his prone position, Harry could also see into what he assumed was Malfoy's private view. One reserved for its owner and no one else. Harry felt dirty, even though it was just there and he was helpless but to notice it. And the words were honestly innocent enough on their own. In the context he had, however, their meaning and weight shifted dramatically.

 _They do love you. They will love you still._

These words were scratched into the back panel of the bookcase, visible just above a row of haphazardly placed books and just below the shelf above. If he sat up even a fraction, they disappeared from view completely. Slowly and quietly, he rose up from the bed, creeping toward the shelves with irrational glances around the room for anything that might look like a camera lens. If he had learnt anything thus far, it was to be rightfully fearful of even the idea of infringing upon this man's personal thoughts.

Harry could see the etching better once he was on the floor. His knees dug into the tough hard wood. His breaths were long and shallow. Regulated. Like he was afraid Malfoy might somehow hear the nosy interest in his lungs. He ran his fingertips over the sharp words, a rough edge slicing through his skin. He hissed, sucked the small bead of blood, and sat back on his ankles.

His eyes quickly cut from the loo door back to the etching in his eye line. They cut back and forth five times exactly before he settled on feeling safe once again. Even then, though, he kept his breathing low and shallow. Just in case.

"So you do have a heart," Harry whispered.

He had to imagine these words were scratched here by the youngest Malfoy himself. After all, this was his bedroom. These were his things defiled with his hurt and his anger. This was a purposeful reminder placed in a private space for moments of desperate need.

Harry felt dirtier the longer he sat there. He felt like an unwelcome voyeur into the deepest parts of this man's soul. But he couldn't force himself to get up or look away. It was like watching someone enveloped in flames before his eyes; it was terrible and brought tears to his eyes but he was afraid to avert his gaze for fear of being haunted by the image left behind his eyelids.

His childhood was a messy tangle of hauntings such as that. Every good memory he had was spoiled by something ashen and singed. The older he was, the better those memories stuck...and the worse their burnt edges became. The older he was...the worse his mother deteriorated.

He sat cross-legged on the floor just staring at the words for too long. He rationalized that if he were to stay like that, at least he was following part of Malfoy's orders – _Don't move_. As he stared, his mind swirled.

He was imagining himself in Malfoy's shoes. Never had his parents forbade him to be himself in any respect. When he came out, nothing changed. His parents, his family friends, his best friend – none of them looked at him any different. None of them asked him to be anything different than who he already was. The sky didn't fall. He wasn't shunned and he wasn't carted off to the loony bin. Having shared even the most minimal of exchanges with others "like him", he knew he was of a select lucky few afforded such ease. A reality which was slammed back in his face as he sat there on the floor, staring at this obvious cry for help from one of the unlucky masses.

If he had been Malfoy, living in this cold house with his cold parents, and burdened with the knowledge that he could never be good enough simply for who he took to bed... Well, he likely would have turned out a right arsehole, as well. Why not be if being vulnerable meant he was only opening himself up to further hurt?

And maybe that wasn't why Malfoy was the way he was. Maybe he had just been born with a penchant for rudeness just as he had been born gay. Some people were just born with a pinch to their face, saddled with a tongue which favored sarcasm.

Either way, Harry found himself sympathizing with a man who had been nothing but crass to him. That sounded like a mental illness in itself.

That sounded like a bad habit to start.

Harry averted his eyes from the splintered words, forcefully pulling himself up off the floor. If he sat there and puzzled any longer, there was no telling where his mind was going to end up. It was safer to resume his spot on the mattress. Eyes to the ceiling, counting the muted-neon stars to keep his head from whirring.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: As always, I love to hear your feedback so please don't hesitate to leave any sort of comment!**

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Malfoy had emerged from his lengthy bath smelling of lavender and honey-sweet milk. The scents clung to him, wafting from his hair and his skin with every move he made. As on-edge as Harry was, he couldn't help but to feel a semblance of calm settling into his muscles. It was almost as if he carried a balancing candle with him, protecting him from what was inevitably to come.

"I am _sure_ you will be relieved to hear we have resolved the issue with the staff!" Harry and Malfoy's feet had barely hit the bottom of the curved staircase before Narcissa sought them out. Harry nestled his fingers into the centre of the volute at the end of the banister, pushing his need to eyeroll out through his death grip on the solid wood. "No slaving away in the kitchen for you. Isn't that just a relief, my darling?"

"It's as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, Mother. Thank you." Only a slight twitch of Malfoy's fingers in Harry's gave away his lie.

Narcissa's lips curled into that sickly smile, taking a step closer to her son. His perfume drenched hair was pulled back into a ribbon, the silken strands contained just so at the nape of his neck. Somehow, one lock had managed to stay loose to frame his sharp cheekbone. Harry wasn't certain if this was left on purpose or by true accident. Regardless, Narcissa wasn't likely to let it remain unchecked. Her fingers, sharp and bony like claws, easily tucked the silken strands back where they belonged. "What would you do without me?" she whispered, patting Malfoy's cheek twice before turning on her heel. "Come along, boys. Lucius would prefer you were punctual."

Harry let go of the rail, frowning down at his watch. According to the digital glow, they were over ten minutes early. He did roll his eyes this time, making a soft noise of laughter through his nose when he caught Malfoy doing the same.

They followed Narcissa down the main hall, passing the only two rooms Harry knew aside from Malfoy's bedroom — the parlour and the dining room where they had eaten lunch. Where he apparently wrongfully assumed they would also be havingdinner. They kept walking until they came upon the last door in the hall. Narcissa delicately rolled the double doors aside and stepped back. Watching Harry very carefully as he took in the sight of a grandiose dining hall. He tried to maintain a neutral expression and not to appear impressed.

But it was impressive….

Opposite of them in the centre of the room was the biggest fireplace Harry could ever recall seeing. He could easily stand tall inside of it and would still have to jump to reach the top bricks. A fire raged in its hearth with not a single log having been spared. Despite the heat crackling through the room, however, the temperature remained perfectly controlled.

To further the magic of the evening, the only other light in the room came from candlelight. Candles in filigreed sconces on the walls. Tapers elegantly dripping from the finest crystal candelabras likely ever crafted. Tealights somehow flickering with life beneath the domed foot of every drinking glass set at the table. Even the chandeliers above had been painstakingly lit.

And the table! There had to be at least room for twenty diners comfortably. All eight of the expectant placings were set just so, each spot exactly mirroring the ones next to and across from it. Malfoy had already prepped Harry on proper table settings so he would know how to make as many mistakes as possible. With that detailed picture still in his mind, he tracked the placement of every utensil and dish to its precise spot. Silver chargers sat waiting for an exorbitant number of courses. At the corner of each charger were exactly three glasses — one for white wine, one for red, and one for water. Each water glass was already filled with crystal clear ice. Every waiting utensil was perfectly polished, their Sterling silver crafted like twisting vines. The blades of the knives and bowls of the spoons appeared to be moulded from the most perfect of leaves plucked from the forest. Harry found himself longing to hold the forks; to feel their delicate tines and admire the stunning craftsmanship. Never had he felt so enamoured by simple cutlery.

Malfoy led them to seats marked by their names embroidered upon the squarely folded black napkins. Someone on staff had worked extra fast to spell out Harry's name without a single flaw in shining emerald green thread. He ran his fingers over it, helpless but to be in awe. Next to him, Malfoy had already lowered himself into one of the high back chairs stained the richcolour of black cherries. Harry forced urgency into his limbs, settling down beside him and resisting the urge to trace the detailed etching of serpentine creatures on the crest rail.

Despite his best efforts, Harry must have been gawking. Lucius was seated at the head of the table, just to Draco's right. Hischair was even taller and grander than all the others and he wore a particularly satisfied curl to his sneer as he tracked Harry's actions. Figuring this was as good of time as ever to try out his lack of manners, Harry reached for his water glass. He tipped it to his lips, pulling one of the ice chucks into his mouth. Watching Lucius actually and physically wince as he crunched on that ice was one of the most satisfying feelings Harry could ever remember experiencing. It felt like he was crushing the solid idea of luxury to pieces on his molars.

Narcissa didn't seem quite so shakeable. She seated herself delicately at the right-hand of her husband, laying her fingers over his tensed fist until he relaxed. "My sister did phone to say she might be a few minutes late. I have asked the staff to hold dinner until she arrives."

"And Grandfather?"

The practiced smile upon Narcissa's lips faltered for only one moment from her son's question. "Abraxas sends his apologies; he is feeling a bit under the weather this evening."

A small wave of relief settled over Harry from knowing he could go the evening without the weight of the old man's gaze. "That sucks," he feigned, aiming a look of concern to his "lover". "But I suppose I will still have the rest of the week to get to know him better, won't I?"

"I'm sure he will make a miraculous and speedy recovery." Malfoy's voice was tight for reasons Harry didn't have the context to understand. Taking advantage of this, he leaned in to press his lips to Malfoy's temple in what he hoped came across as a soothing gesture.

"We would prefer no physical affections be shared where food is served," Narcissa cautioned, drawing a surprising spread of red to Malfoy's face. Harry pulled back, but not before pressing his lips to Malfoy's skin once more. The heat of a blush lingered on his lips as he settled into his chair, trying to appear as anything other than fully chastised.

"I am sure the two of you can at least grant us that much respect in this situation," Lucius continued.

"This situation?" Malfoy questioned, only to be interrupted by a welcome and chaotic distraction.

When Malfoy had described the Lestrange family, he had done so with something akin to vehemence. His tone had been foreboding and warned for caution. He had described his aunt, Bellatrix, as demanding and thorn-sharp. His uncle, Rodolphus, was quiet but would do whatever his wife thought best for the family. And their daughter, Delphini, was the spitting image of both their worst traits even at the age of six. Harry knew all of these characterizations to be true from the moment the trio walked into the dining hall. Delphini was screaming, just screaming with no apparent reason or goal. Bellatrix was snapping at her daughter to gain control. And Rodolphus…well, he was doing his best to make it all go away with top-tier bribery.

Harry had very little experience with children. He wasn't even sure if he wanted kids of his own. (That was one of those future problems he'd yet to dwell on.) He was one-hundred-percent certain, however, this was the perfect example of how not to raise them. Which only further brought him to thinking…what was Malfoy like as a child? Was he just as petulant and obstinate? Was he bred from a young age to expect everything handed to him on a silver platter?

Brows knit together, Harry snuck a look at Malfoy from the corner of his eye. Gauging his reaction to the screaming and pleading and threatening. But he only appeared as cool and aloof as ever. His eyes were securely fixed upon the table, tracing the groove of a distinct grain with the pad of his finger. No one could have ever suspected him of being anything other than wholly disinterested in absolutely anything else.

No apologies or further mentions were made of the girl's fit once it had been resolved. It was as if it never even happened….(Except it most definitely had and Harry's ears were ringing proof.) The family took their seats, Rodolphus and Bellatrix next to Narcissa and Delphini next to Harry. And only then did any of the Lestranges bother to "notice" the presence of someone who simply didn't belong. A fact which was written plainly on every one of their faces.

"Who are _you_?" The girl was made of pure sass peppered with psychopathic tendencies. She was salt and vinegar and all other disgusting things little girls should never be groomed into. Not that Harry would ever presume girls should be one thing or another…but they should never be as full of sickly acid as this one was. Not that any person should be, but least of all a _child_.

Harry focused his sight on the old man named Dobby as he wheeled in a cart carrying their first course. The man hobbled closer at a snail's pace, setting a bowl down in front of Lucius before continuing on. Watching him was painful…but he couldn't answer the question while looking at the girl. Her pitch-dark eyes made him feel like he was going to boil alive from the inside. "I'm Ma—, er, _Draco_ 's bo—."

"His _friend_ , darling," Narcissa interjected, baring every tooth possible in her forced smile. "This is Draco's friend, Harry…."She made a mistake by fumbling for his name.

Malfoy adversely made no hesitation in taking advantage of the gap. "Harry Potter," he sighed and if a sigh could have a bite, boy, his would have taken all of their heads clean off. "And he's my boyfriend, Mother. Not my _friend_. I know you're already aware as you just chastised him for overt affection only a minute ago." Malfoy pushed his fingers between Harry's, slamming their clasped hands upon the table.

Harry's knuckle had hit the table straight-on and now it felt like every nerve up his arm was buzzing and Malfoy was gripping his fingers so tight and every particle of the air was drenched in ugly silence save for the _clink clink clink_ of Dobby shaking as he set down their bowls one-by-one.

Unsurprisingly, Delphini cracked the silence first. "We can all see and _smell_ thathe's a boy, dummy," she scoffed, flipping her chestnut hair over her shoulder. Harry had to clench his other arm to his side to keep from self-consciously sniffing at his underarms.

No one corrected her. In fact, no one said a single word on the subject once she made her outburst. Every single Malfoy and Lestrange delicately picked up the proper spoon and tucked into the bright green soup. Their pinkie fingers were held aloft and their postures were perfect and Harry felt more out of place than he ever had in his life.

And he wanted to go home.

Distantly, he heard Malfoy tell him it was chilled avocado soup and that he should eat. They were apparently still holding hands, Harry's tingling knuckle now resting on Malfoy's knee. It was sensory overload and too much and, Jesus, the heat of that fireplace must've been getting to him finally. The bottoms of his feet felt prickly and damp. "I—I think…." Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. "I think I need to go lay down…."

"Potter, was it?" Bellatrix asked, like Harry hadn't said anything at all. Her gaze felt like a knife held to Harry's throat and so he nodded, staying put as she wanted. "At which of his _ungodly_ clubs did he find you?"

With his head swimming as it was, none of those words made sense. Harry tried his best not to frown or falter. He forced a coy smile Malfoy's way, head quirking in a way he hoped asked, " _What the fuck is she talking about?_ " without him having to say it aloud.

Except Malfoy wouldn't look his way…. He merely sneered down at his bowl, dropping his spoon against the edge so it made a ringing clatter. "And what is that supposed to mean, Aunty Bella?" he asked, his voice dripping sickly sweetness.

"It _means_ ," Bellatrix continued, unfazed, "exactly what I asked, little one. Where. Did you. Find him? My bet is he's a _dancer_ at one of your dirty, little clubs." Every word she spoke was punctuated with insinuations and venom. But if Malfoy was to be believed, this was her natural tone and her natural, spiny body language.

"We met at a coffee shop," Harry blurted out nervously.

Malfoy was much cooler under pressure. "You should be flattered, darling," he chuckled, washing down the two bites he'd taken with a sip of the wine Dobby had come around to freshly pour. A blood red drop clung to his bottom lip before he gingerly licked it away. Every move he ever seemed to make was purposeful and smooth. "She thinks you have the body to be a go-go boy."

Admittedly, Harry hadn't had that type of body since he was still at school…but that didn't mean he wanted his slightly thickened centre called out in front of a room full of judgmental strangers. "I'll try to find a way to take that as a compliment," he muttered between gulps from his own glass. He'd never had much of a taste for wine, but if that was the only option for numbing available….

"What's a _go_ boy?" Delphini snarked, looking up at Harry as if he were something gross upon her perfectly shined shoe.

"Is this really an appropriate conversation to be having in front of a child?" Narcissa sighed while massaging at her temple.

"Just eat your food," Rodolphus snapped at his daughter, but he could have very easily been speaking to them all.

Only he wasn't loud or commanding enough because not a single person acted as if they heard him speak. "A boy who has zero shame when it comes to dancing in front of strangers while wearing no clothing." Bellatrix supplied her daughter with the raw and uncensored truth. There was no mystery as to why the girl was the way she was. She was the product of every vile thing which had ever left her mother's mouth. She was the festering ooze on a never-healing sore, exposed to the world as a gruesome badge of honour.

"For your information, the dancers at my clubs are required to at least wear briefs. We do have _standards_." Malfoy grinned like a cat who'd caught a mouse. "I'm flattered you care so much about my personal life to go snooping on my investments. I'm just a bit hurt that you never came by for a visit…."

Malfoy had never told Harry he owned any clubs. He had carefully avoided all questions of where he earned his money and spent his days. Of how he could afford such a grand house and an abundance of _things_. Thinking on it, Harry didn't think he really knew a single personal fact about this man. It was starting to get on his nerves.

"Like I _said_ ," Harry interjected, all of his frustration turning cool and calm in that moment. He waited until all eyes had settled upon him to continue, his own gaze securely meeting Bellatrix's. "Draco and I met at a coffee shop. Which is what you wanted to know, isn't it? Where he found me?"

Bellatrix, momentarily nonplussed, cut her focus back to Draco. "Be careful choosing the sharp ones, dearest nephew. I know how much you like to have the control in any given situation."

Harry wasn't certain if she meant "sharp" as in quick-witted or like a thorn. Either way, it sounded almost like a compliment and he was filled with smug pride at having ruffled her feathers. He grinned, subconsciously loosening their fingers in order to squeeze Malfoy's knee. It took him a second to realise how strange and tender this action was, reconciling that knowledge with the way Malfoy had startled. He pulled back almost immediately, deciding to finally occupy himself with eating. It seemed a much safer task than either spouting off further or accidentally losing himself in the fantasy they were crafting.

What Harry chose to focus on instead was that he did not, in fact, like avocado soup. It was easier than trying to understand the conversations which took place around him about businesses he didn't know or people he'd never met. And, really, he was miffed as to why anyone would have ever decided avocados should _become_ soup. _And_ how could it even be considered soup if it was cold? After three bites, just to make sure, he set his spoon down and quit trying.

Following that dish was an equally perplexing appetizer. Harry had never particularly understood the idea of eating mushrooms. Therefore, he simply could not get on board with one large cap filled with blistered tomatoes; balls of, he assumed, cheese; and topped with an off-smelling coal-black sauce of sorts. Harry didn't touch it and even rather forcefully pushed it away so he didn't have to smell it as strongly.

To his right, Delphini reacted to their dinner in much the same manner. She pulled from her purse — a perfectly tiny elbow-dangler with the word "JUICY" stitched into its suede surface — one of those egg-shaped digital pets. Curious, Harry leaned back in his chair and watched her push the three buttons below the screen to interact with her "pet". "Does it have a name?" Harry asked.

The girl continued on as if she hadn't heard him, angling her body so he could no longer see the little screen. Keeping in mind he was supposed to be as obnoxious as possible in this coming week, he leaned in closer. "I meant your little pet thing. Did you name it?"

Delphini sighed heavily and literally rolled her eyes back in his direction. "Why?"

"Just…curious?" Harry parried.

" _Why_?"

If this girl was playing a game, Harry was going to lose as he simply didn't have the patience. He held back his own sigh and threw his hands up in defeat. "Never mind."

Harry's strangled ostracization from all conversation continued through to the beginning of the main course — roasted pheasant and potatoes slathered in an onion gravy. Breaking the droning clink of silverware on fine china, Malfoy cleared his throat. Harry carefully watched him sidelong, gratefully shovelling in food while it tasted familiar.

"Oh, Mother…," Malfoy started, waiting for Narcissa's attention before continuing. "As we were discussing the next week, Harry and I found we have something in common. It seems he knows Nymphadora. Rather well, actually."

Even though he wasn't appearing as anything but collected, Harry knew Malfoy was subtly smiling. He launched this statement like a weapon, carefully and pointedly aimed. Narcissa, for her part, tried admirably to remain unfazed. The only surprise in her expression came from the subtle widening of her eyes. "I'm sorry, darling, who?"

"Nymphadora. You have to know I mean your niece; it's not a terribly common name."

Bellatrix was less careful to hide her reaction. Her brow furrowed as she set down her knife and fork, turning her body almost fully to face her nephew. "Andromeda's Nymphadora?"

No longer afforded her blissful ignorance, Narcissa huffed a disgruntled breath and lay down her own cutlery. "This is hardly appropriate dinner conversation, Draco. I am absolutely disappointed in you."

Harry had known Tonks (she preferred her maiden name over the one given to her and wasn't shy about expressing so) since he was a teenager. She was one of his favourite people with her wild magenta hair and brazen sense of humour. And she made his "uncle" Remus happier than he could ever recall, even if they did appear to be an oddly mismatched couple. Knowing her, even in the barest he did as the wife of his dad's best friend, Harry was flummoxed as to how she could be considered an "inappropriate" topic. Then again, Malfoy had stated Tonks' mother wasn't often discussed within the family.

"Honestly, it's hardly that scandalous of a topic anymore." Malfoy rolled his eyes and Harry swore he could feel the cheekiness rolling off of him in waves. "Did you know she's married now, cousin Dora?"

"And has a son," Harry interjected with much less confidence. "Teddy — he's only two."

"Draco!" Lucius exclaimed abruptly and flew out of his chair. The result was said chair falling backward and hitting the stone floor with a resounding _crack_. "Your mother and I require a word with you in the hall."

A genuine and borderline-creepy smile curled at Malfoy's lips as he settled further into his chair. "I haven't quite finished with my meal, Father. And it is excellent, you know. The new cook really has some sk—"

" _Draco_." Narcissa's voice was eerily sharp, even while she maintained her class and composure. "It was not a suggestion."

"Gods' sake," Malfoy muttered under his breath, scooting his own chair back with a pronounced screech. He made a show of wiping his mouth off with his napkin before throwing it down over the remainder of his dinner.

A violent silence settled over the room once Malfoy and his parents were on the other side of the closed door. Harry ducked in closer to his plate, a growing feeling of unease crawling up his spine. He was in a room with literal strangers who, purportedly, had a reputation for being untrustworthy. After his experience earlier that afternoon, he found those allegations to be entirely believable. Which didn't make him eager to open his mouth and perform the job he'd been hired for.

He was unmatched against this entire family and suddenly filled with a deep desire to be with his own parents. He certainly didn't tell them enough how much he appreciated the kind of people they were.

After what felt like an eternity of that precarious atmosphere, the double-doored entrance to the dining hall finally and resolutely flew back open. Malfoy strode in like a man on a mission, only pausing to grasp Harry's wrist before turning and leaving in the same fashion. Harry stumbled along behind him, upending at least one glass in his attempt to follow quickly.

Malfoy offered no words of explanation and stoically refused to answer any of Harry's half-frightened questions. He merely continued to lead him back out into the hall, past his parents, and up the two flights of stairs. The whole way, his fingers still clenched impossibly tight around Harry's wrist and an eerily determined look etched across his brow.

It wasn't until they were securely locked behind the door to their shared room that Malfoy chose to speak a word. Even when he did, his voice shook with what sounded like frustration, but could just as easily be read as fear or white-hot anger.

"I would suggest you begin collecting your things. Mother has called you a car which should be here within the hour."

"I did something wrong…?" Harry half-questioned even as he moved to do as told.

Malfoy didn't answer so much as chuff a non-committal noise.

"You'll be wanting your money back, then?"

For whatever reason, this finally broke Malfoy from his stupor. He looked up from the hole he'd been glaring into the floor, blinking like he might be seeing stars. Which made much more sense than the alternative — clearing a half-formation of tears. It was the first time Harry could recall seeing him truly vulnerable — his hair dishevelled from carded fingers, his expression unguarded, his brow furrowed by the weight of his thoughts. "No," he muttered before clearing his throat and pushing away from the door. He stood taller and physically tugged his suit jacket back into proper place. "No, you've done a decent enough job to keep your advance. It's not entirely your fault you've been forced out."

Harry nodded slowly and found where his luggage had been placed in a corner of the bedroom. He was nearly ashamed of the relief which lightened his footsteps. "Can I at least know what I've done wrong?"

"My parents have labelled you a spy and want me to have nothing more to do with you." Malfoy dismissed his parents' words like they meant nothing despite his visceral reactions. "They've all but ordered met to throw away that near year we've had together like it means nothing. Which just seems entirely too convenient of an excuse, but I digress."

A niggling of hurt settled its way into Harry's chest. Almost like they had actually been together through that year of passion they had crafted. He worried a moment at the bottom of his lip, trying to puzzle all of the pieces together even while missing a few of the telling edges. "Spy?" he managed through the muddle.

"Yes, for my aunt."

"I really am going to need more of an explanation than that. Since this _is_ what I'm being accused of, after all."

Malfoy sighed, heavy and annoyed, stepping closer to Harry. Like if there was less distance between them, his half-explanations would suddenly make more sense. "My aunt — Andromeda, that is — was essentially banished as a traitor years ago. Back when I was only a little one. She …." He paused, his gaze cutting quickly to several points around the room. Like he was trying to look anywhere but at Harry. He went so far as to resolutely step back again, waving his hand through the air as if knocking away the strayed edges of his thoughts. "It really doesn't matter anymore. We've had our fun, but now it's game over and you get to return home."

A strange weight of guilt sunk low into the pit of Harry's stomach when he turned away and finished pulling together his luggage. It wasn't difficult — he hadn't been there long enough to unpack or settle in. But that feeling slowed his motions, dragging them out longer than necessary. Despite all rational thinking telling him Malfoy had grown up with these people and could hold his own, he couldn't help but to feel he was abandoning him. They had been in on this conniving plan together and he had been graciously paid up front. It wasn't right to bow out now, even if he was essentially being forced to.

Against every bit of better judgment he had (and let's be honest, he wasn't usually brimming with rationality as is), Harry dropped his bags back to the floor and turned to face Malfoy. His hands were on his hips and he wore a look of stubborn determination.

"Does this relationship mean _nothing_ to you?" Harry shouted, wincing at the coming of his own destruction.

Malfoy merely blinked back at him.

Even while his nerves danced, Harry kept on at the same volume. "Don't you _love_ me, Draco?" He ended with an over the top, too-obvious wink.

It was only after Malfoy made a point of crossing his arms and rolling his eyes that he resigned to give Harry any sort of response. "I doubt if they can even hear you," he whispered, his voice taking on a husky warmth Harry wasn't expecting. "What are you trying to achieve?"

Harry clutched his hips tightly to keep his mind from wandering to wherever it was that whisper was trying to take him. He needed a moment to think. To gather his thoughts. His intentions were lost, even on himself, as he often acted without thinking things through. It wasn't abnormal for him to act first and think later, which either worked all-too-well or placed him in the centre of yet another messy situation depending on the day.

Once he was sure he knew where he was going with his brave display, he lowered his own voice and quickly closed the distance between them again. "This meant something to you."

"Excuse me?"

"This…this _thing_ you were doing by hiring me. It meant something to you or you wouldn't have done it. You wouldn't be paying me this well if you weren't trying to achieve something real here. Am I wrong?"

Malfoy paused, chewing over his answer, before finally and painstakingly huffing out, " _No_."

"Then I'm not giving up so easily and neither should you."

As much as it obviously pained Malfoy to see it, Harry had a point. Knowing he'd won even before he'd been told as much, Harry grinned and put a much more comfortable amount of space between them. "I'm not going anywhere, Draco," he stated just loud enough for any Peeping Toms to hear clearly. "So, you may as well sit down and start explaining what it is I'm even being accused of!"


End file.
